W  LO 

HL5     BOOK  ~ 


TECUMSEH; 


OR, 


THE  WEST  THIRTY  YEARS  SINCE. 


A    POEM. 


BY   GEORGE    H.  COLTON. 


'  All  kinds,  all  creatures  stand  or  fall 
By  strength  of  prowess  or  of  wit : 
"Tis  God's  appointment,  who  shall  sway, 
And  who  is  to  submit. — 
Say,  then,  that  he  was  wise  as  brave, 
As  wise  in  thought  as  bold  in  deed  ; 
For  in  the  principles  of  things 
He  sought  his  moral  creed. 
And  thou,  although  with  some  wild  thoughts 
Wild  chieftain  of  a  savage  clan ! 
Hadst  this  to  boast,  that  thou  didst  love 
The  liberty  of  man." 

WOBDSWOKTH. 


N  E  W  -  Y  0  R  K  : 
WILEY  AND  PUTNAM,  161  BROADWAY. 

1842. 


Entered  Recording  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1842, 
BY    GEORGE    H.    COLTON, 

Iii  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of 
New-York. 


PRINTED    BY    WILLIAM 

bS  \v.::;.;i..  itrcct 


TO 

WASHINGTON   IRVING, 

ILLUSTRIOUS  AND  BELOVED,  AT  HOME  AND  ABROAD, 

AND 

MOST  HONORED  OF  THOSE  TO  WHOM  HE  IS  KNOWN  THE  BEST, 

THIS  POEM 

IS,    BY   PERMISSION, 
RESPECTFULLY  INSCRIBED 

BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


W276S59 


PREFACE . 


IN  committing  this  Poem  to  the  press,  the  author 
cannot  deny  that  he  feels  much  of  that  distrust  and 
diffidence  which  others  have  expressed  on  the  occa 
sion  of  their  first  appearance  before  the  public. 
The  plea  of  youth,  as  well  as  that  of  haste  in  com 
position,  often  offered  as  an  excuse  for  inaccuracies 
and  defects,  has  been  overruled  by  the  acknow 
ledged  judges  of  literature  :  the  author,  therefore, 
must  appear  before  his  critics,  deprived  of  any 
apology  for  his  faults,  and  submit  to  such  judgment 
as  they  may  be  pleased  to  pass  upon  his  writings. 

He  has  been  mainly  anxious  in  this  Poem  to  de 
lineate  the  character,  customs  and  habits  of  the  In 
dian  tribes,  who  have  passed,  and  are  passing,  so 
fast  away,  that  little  more  will  soon  be  left  of  them  to 
sight  or  memory,  than  of  the  race  who  went  before 
them. 


VI  PREFACE. 

It  would  be  idle  to  deny,  that  he  has  also  been 
ambitious,  not  only  of  adding  his  mite  to  the  litera 
ture  of  his  country,  but  of  leaving  to  future  times  a 
brief  description  of  some  of  the  magnificent  scenery 
of  the  West,  which  the  busy  hand  of  man  is  daily 
changing.  And  in  particular,  he  desired  to  exhibit 
and  record  the  vast  efforts  of  the  really  great  man — 
savage  and  untutored  though  he  was — whose  name 
is  adopted  as  the  title  of  the  work.  Those  efforts, 
though  not  crowned  with  success,  nor  devoted  to  the 
cause  of  civilization,  were  in  him  patriotism :  and 
the  author  can  see  no  reason  for  denying  to  the  red- 
man  that  tribute  of  praise,  which  magnanimity, 
bravery,  and  love  of  country  and  of  his  race,  has  eli 
cited  in  favor  of  his  conquerors. 

If  the  Poem  appear  too  long  for  this  age  of  crowded 
employment  and  rapid  movements,  let  it  be  remem 
bered,  that  the  time  is  necessarily  extended  through 
nearly  two  years;  that  the  scenes  of  so  varied  a 
work,  if  laid  in  the  wilderness,  must  naturally  be  at 
great  distances  apart ;  that  all  motions  of  time  and 
action  will  partake  of  the  slowness  and  the  vastness 
of  the  solitudes  which  surround  them  ;  and  that  a 
national  subject,  so  great  in  its  immediate  and  col 
lateral  relations,  could  not  be  limited,  without  giving 


PREFACE.  Vii 

it  the  appearance  of  sketches  connected  by  violent 
transitions. 

Whether,  however,  the  Author  has  succeeded  in 
his  designs,  or  shall  receive  the  fulfilment  of  hopes 
which  he  may  have  too  fondly  indulged,  it  remains 
for  his  readers  to  determine :  and  to  their  impar 
tial  judgment — whether  favorable  or  adverse — he 
submits  the  merits  of  the  performance. 

NEW-YORK,  MARCH,  1842. 


TECUMSEH 


CANTO  FIRST. 


MY  country  !  if,  unknown  to  fame,  I  dare 
Amid  the  gathering  years  my  voice  upraise 
For  thee  or  thine  in  other  tones  than  prayer, 
Waking  long-silent  musings  into  praise 
Of  thee  and  of  thy  glories,  let  thy  grace 
Accord  me  pardon  ;  since  no  master  hand 
Thy  mighty  themes  on  loftier  lyre  essays, 
Which,  treasured  long  in  thought,  my  mind  expand 
And  burn  into  my  soul,  O  thou,  my  native  land  ! 

What  though  no  tower  its  ruined  form  uprears, 
Nor  blazoned  heraldry,  nor  pictured  hall, 
Awake  the  "  memories  of  a  thousand  years  ;" 
Yet  may  we  many  a  glorious  scene  recall, 
And  deeds  long  cherished  in  the  hearts  of  all 
Who  hail  thee  mother ;  yet  from  mountain  gray 
And  forest  green  primeval  shadows  fall 
O'er  lake  and  plain.     The  journeying  stars  survey 
No  lovelier  realm  than  thine,  free-born  Hesperia  ! 
1 


10 


TECUMSEH. 


It  is  thy  boast,  that  never  on  thy  shore 
Have  any  unto  foreign  bondage  bowed  ; 
The  warrior  tribes  of  Eld  lie  mounded  o'er, 
Where  fell  they  wrapped  in  battle's  gory  shroud  ; 
The  children  of  the  forest,  rudely  proud, 
Yet  struggled  nobly  for  the  graves  where  lie 
Their  fathers'  bones  ;  and  aye  the  invading  crowd 
Of  foemen  leagued  we  've  met  with  victory. 
Of  such  I  sing  :  O  deign  one  smile,  fair  Liberty  ! 


A  few  years  gone,  the  western  star 
On  his  lone  evening  watch  surveyed 

Through  all  his  silent  reign  afar 
But  one  interminable  shade, 

From  precipice  and  mountain  brown 

And  tangled  forest  darkling  thrown  ; 

Save  where,  the  blue  lakes,  inland  seas, 

Kissed  lightly  by  the  creeping  breeze, 

His  beams,  beyond  unnumbered  isles, 

Glanced  quivering  o'er  their  dimpling  smiles  ; 

Or  where,  no  tree  or  summit  seen, 

Unbrokenly  a  sea  of  green, 

That  wild,  low  shores  eternal  laved, 

The  Prairie's  billowy  verdure  waved. 

Nor  ever  might  a  sound  be  heard, 

Save  warbling  of  the  wild-wood  bird, 

Or  some  lone  streamlet's  sullen  dash 

In  the  deep  forest,  or  the  crash 

Of  ruined  rock,  chance-hurled  from  high, 

Or  swarthy  Indian's  battle-cry, 

Whooped  for  revenge  or  victory. 

ii. 

And  through  this  wilderness  of  green, 
Low  banks  or  beetling  rocks  between, 
Through  rough  and  smooth,  through  fair  and  wild, 


TECUMSEH.  11 

The  still  strange  scenery  of  a  dream, 
By  its  enchanting  power  beguiled, 
Birth  of  the  rock,  the  mountain's  child, 

Th'  Ohio  rolled  his  sleepless  stream, 
From  morn  till  evening,  day  by  day, 
Urging  his  solitary  way. 
No  nobler  stream  did  ever  glide 
From  fountain  head  to  Ocean's  tide. 

in. 

Between  the  banks  that  face  to  face 

Gaze  on  each  other's  brows  forever, 
And  hold  within  their  deep  embrace 

A  lengthened  reach  of  that  broad  river, 
The  autumn  sun's  last  lingering  rays, 
Shot  long  and  low,  did  trembling  rest 
Level  upon  its  watery  breast. 
Beneath  those  burnished  arrows  rolled, 
The  waters  seemed  like  molten  gold, 
Unless  some  jutting  rock  from  high, 

Or  tree,  hung  midway  in  the  air, 
Catching  them  ere  they  quivered  by, 

Its  dark  form  threw  distinctly  there  ; 
Or  light,  through  frost-changed  foliage  streaming, 
As  to  the  eyes  of  childhood  dreaming, 
A  mingling  of  all  colors  made, 
From  morning's  flush  to  twilight's  shade. 

IV. 

Upon  a  broad  stone,  which  the  flood, 

With  ceaseless  murmurings,  softly  laved, 

While  high  o'er  head  gray  rocks  uprose, 
And  green  trees  mid  their  ruins  waved, 

Like  granite  statue  in  repose, 

Unmoved  and  stern  a  warrior  stood. 

Not  his  the  arms,  the  garb,  the  mien, 

That  in  chivalric  days  were  seen, 


12  TECUMSEH. 

When  rushed  from  hall  and  lady's  bower 

Gay  knights  with  spear  and  shield, 
To  reap  in  one  tempestuous  hour 

Glory  on  Death's  dark  field. 
Yet  were  his  form  and  features  high 
Of  Nature's  own  nobility  ; 
And  though  upon  his  face  of  stone 
No  ray  of  quick  expression  shone, 
Within  his  keenly  glancing  eye 
Gleamed  the  fierce  light  of  victory. 
The  beaded  moccasins  he  wore 
Were  redder  dyed  in  crimson  gore  ; 
The  eagle's  feather  in  his  hair — 
Drops  of  the  bloody  rain  were  there  ; 
And  on  his  wampum  belt  arrayed 
Three  scalps,  sad  trophies  !  were  displayed 
An  aged  man's — the  shrivelled  skin 
Still  showed  a  few  locks  white  and  thin ; 
A  woman's  next — the  tresses  gray 
Upon  his  thigh  dishevelled  lay  ; 
And  third,  of  all  the  saddest  sight, 
A  child's  fair  curls  in  amber  light 
Hung  trembling  to  the  breeze  of  night. 
The  soft  wind  shakes  their  dewy  wreath — 
Alas  !  'tis  not  a  mother's  breath  ! 
A  beam  of  light  upon  them  lies — 
It  is  not  from  a  mother's  eyes ! 


A  moment  there  the  chieftain  stood, 
Glanced  eye  o'er  river,  rock  and  wood, 
His  black  locks  shook,  as  if  to  say, 
"  No  time  to  go  the  watery  way, 
Where  yet  my  Father's  smiles  do  play," 
Then  shrunk  within  a  tree's  deep  shade, 
To  watch  the  day's  last  radiance  fade. 
But  when  the  sun  withdrew  those  smiles 


TECUMSEH.  18 

To  glad  the  Blessed  Spirits'  Isles, 
Where  brave  souls,  Indian  legends  tell, 
Beyond  his  golden  palace  dwell — 
When  fast  o'er  water,  wood  and  sky 
The  night's  gray  shades  began  to  fly, 
From  cave,  by  foliage  hid  from  view, 
He  launched  in  haste  a  light  canoe. 
Then  from  the  same  retreat  he  led 
No  Indian  girl  in  forest  bred, 
But,  reared  beneath  the  morning  star, 
A  pale-faced  wanderer  from  afar. 

VI. 

With  trembling  limbs  and  aimless  tread, 
And  mute  as  if  her  heart  were  dead, 
She  faltered  forth.     Her  drooping  head, 
Like  flower  by  night's  chill  dews  oppressed, 
Hung  heavy  on  her  budding  breast ; 
And  through  the  fallen  tresses  there, 

Pale  as  a  tomb  through  willows  gleaming, 
Her  hands  were  clasped  in  still  despair ; 

And  if  no  burning  tears  were  streaming 
From  the  long  lashes  of  her  eye, 
It  was  that  now  their  fount  was  dry ; 
For  oft  with  wildered  grief,  that  seemed 
Th'  unuttered  pain  of  one  who  dreamed, 
It  on  the  mournful  trophies  dwelt, 
That  ghastly  graced  her  captor's  belt. 
Chiding  her  long  continued  grief, 
That  ne'er  by  mourning  found  relief, 
Into  his  bark,  with  rudest  shock, 
The  savage  thrust  her  from  the  rock, 
And  in  her  eyes  his  sharp  bright  knife 
Flashed,  mocking  her  own  hopes  of  life  : 
Then  with  him  entering,  other  two 
For  boat  so  frail  made  ample  crew. 
1* 


14 


TECUMSEK. 


VII. 


In  one's  lithe  form  and  manly  face 

A  brother's  lineaments  might  you  trace 

Of  him  we've  painted  ;  but  his  eye 

Had  less  of  fierce  malignity, 

And  youth,  just  burst  from  boyhood's  blush, 

Gave  to  his  mien  a  gentler  grace, 

And  often  with  a  deeper  flush 

On  his  brown  cheek,  as  half  afraid, 

He  gazed  upon  the  captive  maid, 

Or  lent  her,  wearied,  kindly  aid  ; 

Nay,  chid  his  brother's  harsher  mood, 

To  flower  so  bruised  could  be  so  rude. 

Oh  !  beauty  hath  all  power  to  move 

Wild  hearts  to  pity  and  to  love. 

VIII. 

The  other's  hardened  aspect  gave 

Traits  of  the  skilled  and  polished  knave. 

His  form  was  grace,  as  if  at  courts, 

In  ladies'  bowers  and  knightly  sports, 

On  foreign  shores  his  youth  had  passed, 

With  smiles  and  honors  on  him  cast ; 

And  if  his  face,  once  white  and  fair, 

Was  something  browned  by  sun  and  air, 

A  manly  beauty  yet  remained, 

Could  gain,  what  ah  !  too  oft  is  gained, 

That  love  of  fair  and  gentle  maid, 

Which  hopes,  believes — 'till  lured,  betrayed  ! 

O  noble  ! — yet  was  well  revealed 

His  heart,  though  studiously  concealed ; 

For  oft  th'  observant  eye  may  tell 

Black  reptile  through  its  glittering  shell. 

The  hasty  glance — then  steady  gaze, 

The  look  unblenched — then  changing  phase, 

Were  half  of  guilt,  half  recklessness ; 


TECUMSEH.  15 

His  eye  would  momently  confess 

The  wanton  mind,  the  sensual  soul, 

That,  learned  in  lures  and  love's  control, 

Would  wile  young  Beauty  from  her  bower, 

For  triumph  of  one  fleeting  hour  ; 

And  o'er  his  cheek,  if  smiles  might  glide, 

His  curling  lip  their  light  belied. 

The  captive  maiden  could  not  brook 

A  moment  on  that  face  to  look, 

But  shrunk  from  its  all-evil  eye, 

As  from  the  glance  of  Destiny, 

And  trusted  more  the  savage  youth, 

Whose  looks  were  pity — soul  was  truth. 

IX. 

Oh  !  softly  and  silently  glides  the  boat, 

As  a  cloud  on  the  bosom  of  heaven  afloat, 

Which,  the  Daughter  of  Ocean,  hath  risen  in  air, 

And  sails  o'er  as  boundless  an  ocean  there, 

While  she  seeketh  afar  a  home  of  rest, 

Than  the  stormy  place  of  her  birth  more  blest ! 

The  stars  are  out  on  the  silent  sky, 

Mute  sentinels  of  Eternity, 

And  low-voiced  winds  are  hovering  around 

On  their  viewless  wings,  with  a  spirit  sound, 

And  the  moon  hath  climbed  with  a  pensive  pace, 

And  ever  a  sweet  but  mournful  grace, 

To  behold  from  high,  Heaven's  loveliest  daughter, 

Her  pale,  fair  face  in  the  glassy  water, 

Which,  far  in  the  mirrored  world  below, 

Allure th  the  gazer  thither  to  go, 

As  often  he  pineth  from  earth  to  fly, 

And  dwell  in  her  brighter  home  on  high. 

But  now  she  looks  down  from  her  cold,  white  throne 

On  a  face  as  lovely  and  pale  as  her  own ; 

For  with  sorrow  and  weariness,  ceasing  to  weep, 

The  maiden  hath  sunk  to  a  troubled  sleep. 


16  TECUMSEH. 

O'er  bosom  and  forehead  doth  fitfully  gleam 
The  changing  light  of  a  changing  dream ; 
As  now  on  her  cheek  a  soft  smile  plays, 
Till  a  burning  blush  drinks  up  its  rays, 

And  her  lips  half  utter  a  much  loved  name — 
Then  an  ashy  hue  for  the  flush  of  flame, 
And  a  tear  through  her  closed  eye  slowly  strays. 
O  who  is  this  fairer  than  heavenly  vision, 
Ideal  seen,  or  in  dreams  elysian, 
Thus  breathlessly  borne  on  her  noiseless  way, 
Like  a  spirit  passing  from  earth's  decay  ! 

x. 

Through  fair  New-England's  happy  land, 
From  northern  mountains  green  and  high, 

How  brightly  down  to  Ocean's  strand, 
Won  by  his  solemn  minstrelsy 

To  come  and  be  his  chosen  bride, 

Connecticut  rolls  her  silver  tide  ! 

Along  her  varied,  verdant  shore, 
Enchanted  by  her  gentle  voice, 

Ere  blends  it  with  the  Atlantic  roar, 
A  thousand  happy  homes  rejoice, 

Revealed,  in  sunlight  or  in  shade, 

From  mossy  dell  or  grassy  glade ; 

But  none  so  happy,  none  so  gay, 

As  that  which  reared  the  tender  birth 
Of  her,  the  fairest  child  of  Earth, 

Fair  Mary — sweetest  rose  of  May! 

XI. 

Though  born  beneath  the  western  clime, 
Her  lineage  was  of  olden  time  ; 
And  long  ago  in  Albion's  isle 
Was  rudely  reared  their  hoary  pile, 
The  strong  abode,  from  age  to  age, 
Of  men,  no  heirs  of  vassalage, 


TECUMSEH.  17 

With  portraits  stern  in  gloomy  hall, 
And  banners  brave  on  ivied  wall, 
Waving  o'er  mask  and  festival — 
That  glory,  which,  howe'er  it  die, 
Still  lives  in  mourning  Memory  ! 
But  when  oppression  wrought  her  worst 
In  the  wild  reign  of  Charles  the  First, 
Fast  armed  with  Cromwell's  men  of  steel, 
They  struggled  for  their  country's  weal : 
So  when  the  king  regained  the  throne, 
His  father's  sceptre  and  his  own — 
A  traitor  doomed,  though  ne'er  his  heart 
Could  from  that  dearest  country  part — 
Scorning  to  die  a  branded  thing, 
Or  kneel  for  mercy  to  a  king, 
The  last  sole  scion  of  his  race 
Forsook  their  ancient  dwelling-place, 
And  sought  beneath  Hesperia's  sky 
A  home,  and  life,  and  Liberty. 
In  after  years  his  sons  became 

High-priests  at  Freedom's  holy  altar, 
And  helped  to  light  the  sacred  flame 

Which  never  more  shall  fail  nor  falter, 
Till  rolled  in  fire  earth's  orbed  mass 
To  night  and  ruin  wildly  pass  ! 
Yes  !  when  th'  alarm  aloud  and  far 

Rang  through  the  brazen  trump  of  Mars, 
And  nigh  above  the  storm  of  war 

The  Eagle  soared  among  the  stars, 
Still  foremost  in  the  battle's  fire 
Was  seen  fair  Mary's  dauntless  sire. 

XII. 

At  length  the  star  of  Peace  returning 

Revealed  its  circlet  bright — 
How  softly  in  the  orient  burning 

To  cheer  the  patriot's  sight ! 


18  TECUMSEH. 

Then  in  his  green,  secluded  home, 
Without  a  wish  or  thought  to  roam, 
Still  young  in  years,  yet  old  in  deed, 
And  blest  with  valor's  fairest  meed — 
A  maiden's  love,  that  seven  long  years 
Had  watched  in  silence  and  in  tears 

That  star  of  peace  return — 
He  took  his  dove  unto  his  breast, 
Fond  trembler !  fluttering  to  its  rest, 

Though  now  no  more  to  mourn  ! 
Time  glided  by^-one  gentle  flower 
Sprung  up  to  grace  their  rural  bower, 
To  drink  the  sun-light  and  the  dew, 
From  nature  catch  each  lovely  hue, 

When  pleased,  to  smile — when  sad,  to  sigh, 
And  make  each  gazer  own  the  power 

Of  Nature's  sweet  simplicity  ! 

XIII. 

Nor  was  there  wanting  one  to  gaze 

Upon  its  budding  loveliness, 
And  in  his  heart's  untravelled  maze 

That  loveliness  confess. 
The  wild  rose  blooming  in  the  vale, 
Nor  known  but  by  the  summer  gale, 

May  charm  th'  inconstant  wanderer ; 
The  violet  shrinking  in  the  dell 
To  hear  the  lark  his  love-tale  tell, 

Thus  finds  a  worshipper  ; 
But  if  in  its  secluded  place 

One  eye  hath  marked  its  early  birth, 
Its  opening  bud,  its  blooming  grace, 

By  Nature's  fostering  reared  from  earth — 
Oh  !  more  than  all  will  it  adore 
In  ceaseless  love  the  lonely  flower  ! 


TECUMSEH.  19 


XIV. 

Young  Moray  even  from  infancy 
Lived  only  in  his  Mary's  eye. 
Their  parents  neighbors,  mates  were  they 
In  childish  studies  or  in  play ; 
Together  through  the  fields  they  strayed 
In  morning's  light — in  evening's  shade — 

Gathered  sweet  flowers  by  running  streams, 
And  up  the  dell,  where  lay  her  home, 
Oft  went  into  the  forest's  gloom, 
To  hear  the  tumbling  cataract  roar, 
Or,  far  along  the  river's  shore, 

Watched  on  its  tide  the  trembling  beams 

Shift  like  the  light  in  morning  dreams  ; 
And  thought  and  said  all  childish  things 
By  brawling  brooks  and  sunny  springs. 
The  visible  outward  world,  whereon 
They  looked,  appeared  as  strange  and  lone, 
As  that  which  meets  the  school-boy's  gaze, 
When  he  with  awe  and  wrapt  amaze 

In  glassy  pool  or  wandering  stream 
Beholds  it  hang  beneath  his  feet — 

Ah  !  lovely  as  a  tranquil  dream, 
So  wonderful  and  sweet ! 
All  things  did  seem,  around,  above, 
A  beauty,  an  unuttered  love, 
And  lay  upon  their  souls  each  hour 
A  spell  of  most  mysterious  power. 
So  much  as  one  those  souls  became, 
Their  thoughts,  their  feelings  were  the  same  : 
If  o'er  her  face  a  shade  might  fly, 
His  heart  was  sad,  he  knew  not  why ; 
Or  if  she  smiled,  joy  filled  his  soul 
Beyond  his  bidding  or  control. 


20  TECUMSEH. 

XV. 

And  as  they  grew  to  years  of  youth, 
Together  in  the  wells  of  truth 
They  viewed  their  imaged  faces  fair 
Lit  up  with  love,  as,  bending  there, 
They  drank  with  mutual  longing  fever 
The  stainless  waters  failing  never. 
From  Holy  Writ,  from  Nature's  pages, 
From  chronicles  of  olden  ages, 
From  revelations,  strange  and  deep, 
That  break  the  great  world's  ancient  sleep, 
They  learned  bright  wisdom,  on  the  scrolls 
Of  their  most  pure  and  tranquil  souls 
Graven  in  characters  of  light, 
Like  stars  upon  the  scroll  of  night. 
And  though,  as  Science  showed  her  store 
Of  ancient  and  of  modern  lore, 
Rocks,  waters,  winds,  clouds,  sun  and  sky, 
And,  wheeling  on  their  golden  cars, 
The  planets  and  the  solemn  stars 
Were  now  no  more  a  mystery, 
That  wondrous  world  within,  their  being, 
Watched  by  that  Life,  unseen,  all-seeing, 
The  mind,  that  can  nor  sleep  nor  die, 
Became  unto  their  souls  instead 
A  deeper  mystery  and  a  dread  ; 
And  feelings,  infinite  and  lone, 
Stirred  their  still  spirits  with  a  tone 
Like  harpings  of  Eternity, 
Till  they  became,  each  unto  each, 
As  two  that  on  the  Ocean's  beach, 
All  lonely,  hear  the  mighty  roar 
Of  waters  rolling  evermore, 

And  feel  their  minds,  their  being  one. 
Around  them  Earth — Heaven,  God,  above, 
Their  thoughts  were  pure,  their  souls  were  love ; 


TECUMSEH.  21 

And  Nature,  with  continual  voice, 
Whispered  their  hearts  "  rejoice  !  rejoice  !" 

XVI. 

And  joy  was  theirs  :  but  mortal  life 

Of  chance  and  change  is  born, 
With  doubt  and  fear  and  anguish  rife, 

And  fickle  Fortune's  scorn. 
Into  the  sweet,  secluded  place 
Embosoming  their  happiness, 
There  came  a  stranger,  wont  to  roam 
O'er  the  wide  world  without  a  home  ; 
A  weed  upon  the  face  of  things, 
Drifting  where'er  the  billow  swings, 
To  vice  hereditary  heir, 
His  morals  gaining  every  where, 
But,  like  a  pebble  of  the  ocean, 
Grown  polished  by  continual  motion  ; 
A  being  without  aim  or  end, 

Except  to  follow  wanton  charms 

And  revel  in  gay  Pleasure's  arms, 
Polite  to  all — to  none  a  friend. 
Fair  was  his  face — his  heart  as  black, 
As  bolt,  that  on  its  blasting  track 
Bursts  from  the  thunder-storm's  dark  breast, 

And,  riving  with  remorseless  power 

The  lofty  oak  and  lowly  flower* 
Makes  the  rent  rock  its  place  of  rest 

XVII. 

He  gazed  on  her :  his  soul  became 
Alive  with  love's  sincerest  flame, 
Yet  in  his  long-corrupted  heart 
He  doomed  her  to  the  spoiler's  art. 
Deeming  much  flattery,  many  smiles, 
Had  lured  her  to  his  wanton  wiles, 
2 


22  TECUMSEH. 

He  kneeled  with  earnest  words  to  move 
Her  to  dishonorable  love. 
"  O  fairest  flower  !  O  gentle  maid  ! 
Why  hide  thy  beauty  in  the  shade  1 
Thou  art  my  love,  my  light,  my  breath ! 
With  thee  is  life — without  thee,  death  ! 
Oh  !  fly,  thou  dearest,  fly  with  me 
From  this  dull  home  across  the  sea  ! 
In  fair  Italia's  sunny  clime 
We  will  beguile  the  wings  of  Time 
With  love's  unwearying  liberty — 
Sweet  Mary,  fly  with  me  !" 


On  her  smooth  cheek  indignant  pride 
O'ercame  pale  fear.     "  Durst  thou,"  she  cried, 
"  Thus  couple  love's  most  sacred  name 
With  guilt  and  misery  and  shame  ] 
Bid'st  thou  from  home  and  friends  to  part, 
And  follow  such  a  thing  as  thou, 
Lured  by  the  spoiler's  faithless  vow. 
Vain  fool  !  I  knew,  when  first  he  came, 
De  Vere's  false  smiles  hid  falser  heart !" 
She  turned  in  haste — he  clasped  her  hand  : 
"  Nay,  hear  me  !  Hymen's  sacred  band 
Shall  bind  us,  and  our  love  shall  be 
As  holy — "     "Miscreant !  leave  me  free  !" — 
"  Fool !  stay,  thou  shall  /" — It  scarce  was  said, 
Young  Moray's  hand  was  on  him  laid  : 
"  Thou  curse  upon  the, face  of  earth  ! 
Thou  deep-dyed  traitor  from  thy  birth  ! 
Linger  one  moment,  and  I  swear 
Thy  false  heart  from  thy  breast  to  tear  ! 
Haste,  ere  I  crush  thee — hence  !" — De  Vere 
Changed  red  and  pale  with  rage  and  fear  ; 
But  guilt,  surprised,  unnerves  the  soul, 
Howe'er  the  tide  of  passion  roll. 


TECUMSEH. 

With  quivering  lip  and  bloodshot  eye 

He  strode  the  green-wood  hastily, 

But  through  clenched  teeth,  distinct  and  slow, 

Muttered  a  deep  and  burning  vow  : 

"  Revenge — revenge  upon  her  home 

Like  Heaven's  unsparing  bolt  shall  come  !" 

XIX. 

Too  true  the  vow — the  vengeance  came. 

Constrained  by  friendship's  sacred  ties, 

The  father,  more  humane  than  wise, 
Assigned  his  all,  and  gave  his  name, 
To  save  a  comrade  brave  in  arms 
From  ruin  and  the  law's  alarms. 
Vain  was  the  noble  sacrifice  ; 

The  wealth  of  both  was  all  too  light : — 
De  Vere  with  hatred's  eagle-eyes 

Discerned  th'  advantage,  bought  the  right 
To  crush  them  with  law's  hand  of  steel, 
Then  made  to  Sidney's  fears  appeal : 
"  Give  me  thy  daughter  for  my  bride, 
And  still  in  wealth  and  peace  abide  ; 
Refuse  me — by  my  soul,  I  swear, 
Thou  art  to  want  and  ruin  heir !" 
"  Born  wretch  !"  broke  forth  the  stern  reply, 
While  flashed  with  fire  his  aged  eye — 
"  To  thy  black  heart  and  passions  wild 
Sooner  than  trust  my  gentle  child, 

I  '11  lay  her  in  the  grave  ! 
Thou  speak'st  of  riches — thrice-accurst ! 
Thou  speak'st  of  vengeance — do  thy  worst ! 
Thou  speak'st  of  ruin — let  it  burst ! — 

The  Sidney  spurns  thee,  slave  !" 

xx. 

Thus  of  his  heritage  bereft, 
With  but  ancestral  memories  left, 


24  TECUMSEH. 

Which  through  all  change  the  heart  still  owns — f 
Yet  firm  of  soul,  and  strong  of  hand, 
The  aged  patriot,  with  a  band 

Of  stern  New- England's  hardy  sons, 
Left  his  green  native  vale  behind, 
Though  thinking  none  so  fair  to  find, 
And,  ne'er  by  doubt  or  dread  oppressed, 
Sought  the  wild  bosom  of  the  West. 

° 


The  noble,  dauntless  Pioneers, 

Journeying  afar  new  homes  to  raise 
In  the  lone  woods  with  toil  and  tears. 
Meeting  with  faith  the  coming  years, 

Theirs  be  the  highest  meed  of  praise  \ 
He,  who,  with  cost,  and  care,  and  toil, 
Hath  reared  the  vast  enduring  pile  ; 
He,  who  hath  crossed  the  Ocean  foam, 
Strange  lands  for  science'  sake  to  roam  ; 
He,  who  in  danger  and  in  death 
Hath  faced  the  spear,  the  cannon's  breath, 
Or  borne  the  dungeon  and  the  chain, 
His  country's  rights  to  save  or  gain  ; 
He,  who  amid  the  storms  of  state 
Hath  swayed  the  trembling  scales  of  Fate 
For  her  and  Freedom,  heeding  nought 
The  scorn  of  hatred,  sold  or  bought — 
Are  such  not  glorious  ] — Yet  O  deem 

Their  being  less  heroical ; 
For  mingling  with  it  comes  the  dream 

And  hope  of  Fame's  bright  coronal  : — 
They  see  the  light  of  years  to  come 
Streaming  around  their  silent  tomb  ! 
But  those  who  leave  the  homes  of  love, 
And  pass  by  many  a  long  remove 
Through  the  deep  wilderness,  to  rear, 
In  voiceless  suffering  and  in  fear, 


TECUMSEH.  25 

Not  for  themselves  a  resting  place — 
Their  hope  is  only  for  their  race, 
For  whom  their  lives  of  pain  are  given  ; 
Their  light  to  cheer  is  light  from  Heaven  ; 
Nor  look  they,  save  to  God,  at  last 
For  life's  reward  when  life  is  past, 
But  lay  them  down,  with  years  oppressed, 
Beneath  the  patriarch  woods  to  rest, 
Without  a  thought,  Fame's  wandering  wing 
One  plume  upon  their  graves  shall  fling — 
Thus  noiseless  in  their  death  as  birth, 
The  best  brave  heroes  of  the  earth ! 
While  roll  thy  rivers,  spreads  thy  sky, 
Or  rise  thy  lifted  mountains  high, 
Hesperia,  guard  their  memory  ! 

xxn. 

And  in  her  home,  a  thousand  miles 
From  that  which  won  her  infant  smiles. 
And  charmed  her  childhood  into  tears, 
And  fed  with  thought  her  growing  years, 
Fair  Mary  dwelt  mid  scenes,  might  well 
Beguile  with  their  Elysian  spell 
The  dreams  of  her  loved  native  dell. 
Where  dark  Miami's  rushing  stream 
Through  willows  wild  did  dimly  gleam, 
Their  simple,  lowly  cottage  rose, 
Bosomed  in  Eden's  sweet  repose. 
At  distance  from  the  rest  removed, 
It  was  by  her  the  better  loved. 
Before  it  swept  the  voiceful  river, 
Communing  with  the  winds  forever  ; 
Behind  a  gentle  slope  displayed 
Some  scattered  trees  of  friendly  shade, 
In  Nature's  negligence  arrayed  ; 
And  near,  a  fount,  with  slumbrous  sound, 
Diffused  a  dewy  coolness  round. 
2*' 


26  TECUMSEH. 

The  wild-rose  bloomed  beside  the  door, 

The  wild-vine  wreathed  the  windows  o'er. 

And  thousand  flowers  all  lonely  grew, 

Ne'er  blushing  to  the  human  view 

Till  Mary  came  with  fairer  hue. 

Nor  wooed  but  by  the  wild -wood  bird 

Till  Mary  came  with  softer  word. 

And  ever  as  the  Sabbath  sun 

On  those  rude  dwellings  calmly  shone, 

Though  no  cathedral  towards  the  sky 

Its  gloomy  turrets  lifted  high, 

Yet  echoed  with  the  voice  of  prayer 

The  many-pillared  temple  there— 

The  dim,  the  still,  the  solemn  wood — 

For  rightly  deemed  that  pilgrim  band, 
HE  was  the  God  of  solitude, 

As  of  a  peopled  land  ! 

XXIII. 

But  love,  oh  !  love  can  ne'er  rejoice 
In  fairest  sight  or  sweetest  voice, 
Unless  the  loved  one  may  confess 
Alike  with  it  their  loveliness  ! 
And  woman's  heart — 'tis  a  sad,  sweet  lyre, 

Of  many  a  strange  and  secret  string  ; 
But  all  its  varied  chords  conspire 

Only  of  love  to  sing  ! 
Sorrow,  and  joy,  and  misery, 
May  win  of  a  part  brief  melody ; 
But  far  below  are  others  that  move 
Never,  if  not  to  the  breath  of  love  ; 
And  if  all  the  rest  are  silent  and  still, 
Yet  these  in  the  soul's  deep  chambers  thrill 
With  a  glad  low  voice  or  a  mournful  moan, 
As  the  wind-harp  sings  to  itself  alone — 
Oh  !  this  is  the  heart's  undying  tone  ! 


TECUMSEH.  27 


XXIV. 

The  beauty  of  her  home  could  never 
The  maiden's  thoughts  from  Moray  sever. 
In  dreams  by  day  and  dreams  by  night 
His  image  passed  before  her  sight, 
And,  as  in  days  to  memory  dear, 
Low  words  were  in  her  charmed  ear. 
Nay,  when  the  world  beside  was  still, 
She  oft  would  climb  the  dewy  hill, 
And  eastward  bend  her  tearful  eyes, 
To  watch  the  morning  sun  arise, 
As  asking  by  her  earnest  gaze, 
What  tidings  bore  its  lingering  rays 
Of  him  alone  her  life  could  bless, 
Lord  of  her  heart  and  happiness. 

xxv. 

Meanwhile,  with  Mary's  look  and  tone, 
Young  Moray's  light  and  life  were  gone  ; 
Joy  had  decayed,  and  Nature  wore 
Her  garb  of  loveliness  no  more. 
Days,  weeks,  and  months,  as  sank  the  sun 

Behind  the  purpled  hills  afar, 
He  wished  its  rapid  race  to  run 

And  be  with  her  ;  and  when  the  star 
Of  eve,  as  dusky  night  came  on, 
Love's  signal  trembled,  bright  and  lone, 
He  thought  of  her  on  whom  it  shone. 
At  last,  in  hunter's  rude  attire, 
He  left  with  tears  his  aged  sire  ; 
Resolved  the  western  wilds  to  roam, 
And  find  her  in  that  distant  home. 

XXVI. 

He  crossed  the  Hudson's  wizard  stream — 
He  climbed  the  Kaatskills'  clifted  mountains— 


28  TECUMSEH. 

He  passed  the  Mohawk's  troubled  dream, 
And  blue  Cayuga's  gushing  fountains  ; 
A  moment  bent  him,  a  we- struck,  o'er 
The  gray  Niagara's  anthem  roar, 
In  th'  ear  of  God  that  ceaseth  never — 
Trod  the  wild  side  of  Erie's  lake, 
Whose  haunted  breast  the  tempests  make 
Their  own  dark  home  forever  ; 

Then  plunged  into  the  ancient  wood, 
The  solemn,  boundless  solitude, 
Where,  save  the  wind,  or  rushing  river, 
Or  cry  of  bird  or  beast,  no  sound 
Broke  the  deep  stillness  reigning  round. 
By  mossy  rock — by  lonely  dell — 

By  many  a  tree  in  green  decay, 
That  slumbered  where  of  old  it  fell— 

By  mounds,  where  mighty  heroes  lay, 
Long  ages  numbered  with  the  dead, 

The  glory  of  a  vanished  day — 
With  tireless  limbs  and  quickened  tread 
He  wound  his  solitary  way. 

XXVII. 

At  last  one  autumn  morn  he  stood, 
Within  the  hoar,  unbreathing  wood, 
Above  her  home.     His  soul  became 
So  feeble  as  a  dying  flame  : — 
Suspense  in  bosoms  stout  and  brave 
Will  make  the  stillness  of  the  grave  ! 
Through  faded  leaves  the  early  sun 
Upon  the  cottage  coldly  shone. 
All  there  was  silent. — Did  they  sleep  ] — 
He  felt  life's  curdling  currents  creep 
Back  to  his  heart  with  shuddering  chill ; 
He  hurried  down — but  all  was  still, 
Except  the  dog's  low  plaintive  whine, 
Or  wind  that  sighed  through  rustling  vine. 


TECUMSEH.  29 

He  knocked — he  paused  in  doubt  and  dread — 
He  saw  the  threshold  stained  and  red — 
He  burst  the  door— O  God  !  the  sight 
Had  seared  a  seraph's  eyes  of  light  J 
All  pale  and  scalpless  on  the  floor, 

With  eyes  from  which  the  soul  was  flown, 
Stilled  pulse,  and  hearts  that  beat  no  more, 

Lay  mother,  sire,  and  gentle  son, 
Whom  few  brief  years  had  smiled  upon. 
Death  had  been  there — and  in  their  blood 
The  faithful  dog  beside  them  stood, 
Moaning  to  them  most  piteously — 
It  was  a  fearful  sight  to  see  ! 


Dismayed,  bewildered,  and  amazed, 
One  moment  Moray  vaguely  gazed, 
As  if  some  terror,  strange  and  dread, 
Had  numbed  him  on  the  midnight  bed. 
Then,  slowly  as  his  soul  awoke, 
From  his  pent  breast  words  wildly  broke 
"  O  curst  De  Vere  !  I  know  full  well, 
"  This  is  thy  work,  thou  fiend  of  Hell !" 
No  more  he  spake,  but  kneeling  low, 
On  each  cold  cheek  and  pallid  brow 
As  pale  lips  pressed.     Above  him  there 
Swept  the  chill  waters  of  despair — 
Yet  but  a  moment :  o'er  the  deep, 

Like  Mars'  red  planet,  calm  and  slow, 

Rose  to  his  soul  a  burning  vow, 
Which  neither  time,  nor  pain,  nor  sleep, 
Might  ever  from  its  gaze  remove — 
The  star  of  its  revenge  and  love. 
He  rose — and  there  he  saw  it  stand 

In  fiery  strength,  serene  and  red  ; 
It  pointed  with  its  burning  hand 

Unto  the  cold  and  dead, 


TECUMSEH. 

And  beckoned  him  from  wailings  long1, 
To  track  the  bloody  steps  of  wrong. 
In  calmness  Moray  passed,  and  sought 
One  like  himself  in  word  and  thought, 
And  who  in  early  years  had  been 
Companion  in  each  boyish  scene, 
Now  turned  a  hunter,  swift  in  chase, 
And  skilled  the  Indian's  trail  to  trace. 
Revenge  the  burden  of  their  prayer, 
They  left  the  dead  to  others'  care, 
And  plunged,  with  Hope  and  God  to  aid, 
Dauntless  into  the  forest  shade. 

XXIX. 

As  meets  her  love  a  fair  young  bride 
With  noiseless  step  and  graceful  pride, 
The  boat  dropped  down  the  coursing  tide  ; 
And  as  they  won  their  gradual  way, 
The  shadows  darker  round  them  lay, 
More  solemn  rose  the  silent  wood, 
More  stern  and  high,  on  either  side, 
The  frowning  rocks  like  giants  stood 
To  guard  their  time-long  solitude, 
Till  at  the  last  they  reared  their  brows 
A  thousand  feet  above  their  base, 
Where  evermore  the  river  pays, 
With  broken  words,  its  suppliant  vows. 
More  mournful  was  the  wind's  low  song, 
As  passed  they  this  wild  scene  along ; 
More  bright  the  stars  lay  on  the  stream, 
More  sadly  shone  the  moon's  pale  beam — 
All  nature  seemed  their  souls  to  fill 
With  whispered  voice,  "  be  still !  be  still !" 

xxx. 

The  maiden  slept ;  but  the  Indian  boy 
Watched  o'er  her  with  unuttered  joy, 


TECUMSEH.  31 

Still  gazing  on  her  sweet  wan  face, 
Lit  up  with  dreams  in  sleep's  embrace  : 
And  while  the  chieftain  sate  beside 
The  helm,  the  light  canoe  to  guide, 

Eyeing  the  rocks  with  keen  survey, 

As  dark,  as  still,  as  stern  as  they, 
He,  borne  on  love's  bewildering  tide, 
In  low  notes,  lingering  on  his  tongue, 
This  simple  song  half-said,  half  sung. 

XXXI. 
THE    WORDS    OF    THE    INDIAN    YOUTH    TO    THE    CAPTIVE    MAID. 

"  How  fair  is  thy  face,  pale  flower ! 

The  stars  look  down  on  thee, 
And  our  Father's  Sister  gazeth 

Thy  loveliness  to  see. 
Bright,  bright  is  their  deathless  ray ! 
But  they  know  thou'rt  fairer  than  they, 
Pale  Lily-of-the-Water— 
Sweet  flower,  sleep ! 

"  I've  seen  our  loveliest  maidens  ; 
Their  eyes  as  stars  are  bright, 
Their  voices  are  sweet  as  a  fountain's 

That  murmurs  in  the  light. 
But  they  were  not  a  joy  to  me, 
As  thou  when  I  look  on  thee, 

Pale  Lily-of-the- Water — 
Sweet  flower,  sleep ! 

"  Why  droopeth  thy  head,  lone  captive  1 

Mourn  not  the  loved  ones  blest ; 
In  the  white  man's  Happy  Islands 

Their  spirits  are  at  rest. 
Thy  image  to  them  shall  beam, 
As  they  are  beheld  in  thy  dream, 

Pale  Lily-of-the-Water — 
Sweet  flower,  sleep ! 


32  TECUMSEH. 

"  My  brother  is  rude  to  thy  sorrow  ! 

He  hath  a  warrior's  soul — 
He  is  terrible  in  the  battle — 
He  scorns  a  maid's  control ! 
But  afar  in  our  fathers'  home 
Thou  shalt  in  my  bosom  bloom, 

Pale  Lily-of-the- Water — 

Sweet  flower,  sleep !" 

xxxii. 

Still  brooding  o'er  his  own  sweet  words, 
As  o'er  their  songs  the  summer  birds, 
He  sat,  when  lo  !  from  out  the  rock 

A  sudden  flash,  like  lightning's  dart— 

The  bullet  sped — it  struck  his  heart — 
He  bounded  with  the  shock 
High  in  the  air,  then,  like  a  stone, 
Fell  on  the  wave  without  a  groan — 
To  love,  to  dream — no  more! — no  more  ! 

Above  his  warm,  high  heart,  the  river 

Closed  cold  and  silently  forever, 
And  shone  the  moon  as  she  shone  before. 
O  many  a  dark  deed  hath  she  seen, 
Yet  looks  the  same — still  bright,  serene ! 
'Twas  well : — he  passed,  as  at  breath, 
From  love's  young  dream  to  sleep  in  death. 
Ere  joy  was  dead — ere  hopes  were  flown, 
Like  leaves  of  Autumn,  sere  and  strown — 
Ere  came  that  cheerless,  slow  decay, 
From  which  we  dread  to  go,  yet  stay 
In  vain  regret  and  cureless  grief — 
His  spirit  found  from  life  relief. 
Ah  !  never  might  he  know  the  pangs — the  pain- 
Would  pierce  his  soul  and  rend  his  heart  in  twain ! 

XXXIII. 

An  instant  did  the  chieftain  gaze 
In  unaccustomed  wild  amaze  ; 


TECUMSEH.  3,3 

But  when  o'er  him  he  loved  so  well 

The  sullen  waters  gurgling  fell, 

He  started  up  with  quick,  fierce  yell, 

Wreathed  in  his  bloody  hand  and  bare 

The  sleeping  maiden's  flowing  hair  : 

"  Too  long,"  he  cried,  "I've  spared  thy  blood, 

To  please  Oo-loo-ra's  simple  mood — 

Now  die  thou  for  his  death  !" 
His  dark  locks  o'er  his  forehead  streamed, 
His  bright  knife  in  the  moonlight  gleamed — 

It  soon  had  found  a  sheath, 
But  on  the  instant  rose  De  Vere, 
Though  not  in  soul  untouched  with  fear, 
And  seized  the  hand  uplifted  high : 
"  My  brother,"  said  he  artfully, 
"  Say,  hath  my  brother's  reason  fled  ] 
Thou  know'st  the  maid  is  mine  to  wed  ; 
For  thy  revenge  the  rest  are  slain  ; 
But  if  her  haughty  scorn  remain, 
Then  at  thy  nation's  council-fire 
Oo-loo-ra's  spirit  shall  require, 
In  blood  of  hers  thy  hands  be  red." 
"  His  words  are  good,"  the  Indian  said  : 
"  The  pale-face  in  his  hut  shall  dwell." 
He  grimly  smiled,  as  knowing  well, 
That  maid  would  sooner  wed  the  grave, 
Than  be  a  murderer's  sensual  slave  ; 
Then  calmly  did  his  seat  resume, 
And  silent  mood  ;  nor  might  you  trace 

Thought,  memory,  of  what  had  been, 
Or  by  his  bosom  or  his  face, 

Still,  cold,  as  Hecla's  frozen  scene : 

But  in  that  dark  breast,  well  I  ween, 
In  boiling  eddies  went  and  came 
The  lava  flood  of  Hecla's  flame. 


•34  TECUMSEH. 


XXXIV. 

Warned  by  the  shot  thus  hostile  sent 
From  that  primeval  battlement, 
They  hastened  where  th'  opposing  side 
Flung  deeper  shadows  o'er  the  tide. 
The  moon  sank  down  :  yet  hour  by  hour, 
As  drawn  by  some  invisible  power, 
Through  the  dim  stillness  on  they  sped, 
Like  fabled  spirits  of  the  dead, 
In  shadow  borne,  and  silence  lone, 
Along  the  lake  of  Acheron. 


TECUMSEH 

CANTO  SECOND. 


O  STAR  of  vengeance  !  light  of  every  soul 
That  feels  the  sense  of  hatred  or  of  wrong, 
No  heavenly  planet  hath  thy  far  control 
To  make  the  faintest  brave,  the  feeble  strong. 
They  see  thy  burning  orb  through  darkest  throng 
Of  clouds  and  storms  that  round  them  gathering  lower, 
And  follow  firm  through  toil  and  perils  long  : 
Whenever  come  the  object  and  the  hour, 
Upon  the  human  heart  thou  hast  resistless  power. 

From  thee,  O  mightiest  star,  the  Patriot's  breast 
Receives  the  strength,  that  meets  and  conquers  all ; 
Frail,  shrinking  Woman  at  thy  stern  behest 
Nerves  her  with  will,  which  nothing  can  appal : 
But  most  the  savage  heeds  thy  fiery  call, 
Where'er  thou  redly  rise  o'er  wood  or  wave, 
And  time,  nor  change,  nor  aught  that  may  befall, 
Can  turn  his  fixed  pursuit  to  slay  or  save  ; 
Nor  cares  he  aught,  albeit  thou  gleam  upon  his  grave. 


36  TECUMSEH. 


It  was  an  Autumn  morn  :  the  sun 

Wearily  rose  his  race  to  run — 

He  came  but  late,  as  an  aged  one  ; 

The  cold,  gray  mists,  like  flags  unfurled, 

Around  the  sleeping  earth  were  curled  ; 

On  prairie,  river,  lake  and  wood, 

Lay  the  deep  dream  of  solitude. 

Lone  rising,  in  the  midst  was  seen 

One  mighty  mound,  with  mosses  green — 

Save  where,  by  winds  of  autumn  blown, 

The  pale  and  withered  leaves  were  strown — 

A  huge  rude  pile,  built  up  of  old 

By  hands  long  since  forgot  and  cold. 

Time  spares  their  tombs  alone  : — what  name 

Their  darkly  mouldering  dust  can  claim  ! 

And  as  the  mists  were  rolled  away, 

Before,  outspread  the  eye  beneath, 
A  prairie's  boundless  prospect  lay 

Like  solemn  Ocean,  as  the  breath 
Of  morning  swept  its  surface  o'er, 
With  long,  slow  waves,  from  shore  to  shore— 
There  only  rose  not  Ocean's  roar  ; 
While  all  behind  it  stretched  a  range 

Of  varied  forest,  fading  sere, 
Touched  with  the  spirit  of  a  change, 

That  falleth  with  the  changing  year  ; 
And  there,  by  swell  or  grassy  glade, 
Unscared  the  antlered  wild-deer  strayed, 
Or  fed  along  the  prairie's  verge 
Vast  herds,  that  never  felt  the  scourge, 
Or  dashed  o'er  valley,  plain  and  hill, 
Lords  of  their  own  unbounded  will, 
As  ocean  billows  shoreward  press, 
The  proud  steeds  of  the  wilderness. 


TECUMSEH.  37 


II. 

Upon  that  mound's  most  silent  height, 
Ere  dewless  felJ  the  morning's  light, 
With  step  the  hare  had  scarcely  heard, 
Two  warriors  of  the  wood  appeared. 
By  his  broad  brow  of  care  and  thought, 

By  his  most  regal  mien  and  tread, 
By  robes  with  richest  wampum  wrought, 

And  eagle's  plume  upon  his  head, 
The  one  should  be  a  chief  of  power, 
And  ruler  of  the  battle's  hour  ; 
Nor  e'er  did  eye  a  form  behold 
At  once  more  finished,  firm  and  bold. 
Of  larger  mould  and  loftier  mien 
Than  oft  in  hall  or  bower  is  seen, 
And  with  a  browner  hue  than  seems 
To  pale  maid  fair,  or  lights  her  dreams, 
He  yet  revealed  a  symmetry 
Had  charmed  the  Grecian  sculptor's  eye, 
A  massive  brow,  a  kindled  face, 
Limbs  chiselled  to  a  faultless  grace, 
Beauty  and  strength  in  every  feature, 

While  in  his  eyes  there  lived  the  light 

Of  a  great  soul's  transcendent  might — 
Hereditary  lord  by  nature  ! 
As  stood  he  there,  the  stern,  unmoved 
Except  his  eagle  glance  that  roved, 
And  darkly  limned  against  the  sky 
Upon  that  mound  so  lone  and  high, 
He  looked  the  sculptured  God  of  Wars, 
Great  Odin,  or  Egyptian  Mars, 
By  crafty  hand,  from  dusky  stone, 
Immortal  wrought  in  ages  gone, 
And  on  some  silent  desert  cast, 
Memorial  of  the  mighty  Past ! 
And  yet,  though  firm,  though  proud  his  glance, 
3* 


38  TECUMSEH. 

There  was  upon  his  countenance 
That  settled  shade,  which  oft  in  life 
Mounts  upward  from  the  spirit's  strife, 
As  if  upon  his  soul  there  lay 
Some  grief  which  would  not  pass  away. 

in. 

The  other's  lineaments  and  air 

Revealed  him  plainly  brother  born 
Of  him,  who  on  that  summit  bare 

So  sad,  yet  proudly,  met  the  morn  : 
But,  lighter  built,  his  slender  frame 
Far  less  of  grace,  as  strength,  could  claim  ; 
And,  with  an  eye  that,  sharp  and  fierce, 
Would  seem  the  gazer's  breast  to  pierce, 
And  low'ring  visage,  aye  the  while 
Inwrought  of  subtlety  and  guile, 
Whose  every  glance,  that  darkly  stole, 
Bespoke  the  crafty,  cruel  soul, 
There  was  from  all  his  presence  shed 
A  power,  a  chill  mysterious  dread, 
Which  made  him  of  those  beings  seem, 
That  shake  us  in  the  midnight  dream. 
Yet  were  his  features,  too,  o'ercast 
With  mournfulness,  as  if  the  past 
Had  been  one  vigil,  painful,  deep  and  long, 
Of  hushed  Revenge  still  brooding  over  wrong. 

IV. 

No  word  was  said  :  but  long  they  stood, 
And  side  by  side,  in  thoughtful  mood, 
Watched  the  great  curtains  of  the  mist 

Up  from  the  mighty  landscape  move  ; 
'Twas  surely  spirit-hands,  they  wist, 

Did  lift  them  from  above. 
And  when,  unveiled,  to  them  alone 
The  solitary  world  was  shown, 


TECUMSEH. 

And  dew  from  all  the  mound's  green  sod 
Rose,  like  an  incense,  up  to  God, 
Reclined,  yet  silent  still,  they  bent 
Their  eyes  on  Heaven's  deep  firmament — 
As  if  were  open  to  their  view 
The  stars'  sun-flooded  homes  of  blue — 
Or  gazed,  with  mournful  sternness,  o'er 
The  rolling  prairie  stretched  before  ; 
While  round  them,  fluttering  on  the  breeze, 
The  sere  leaves  fell  from  faded  trees. 


"  Brother — the  moons  their  course  have  run," 

At  last,  with  liquid  voice  and  sweet, 
He  of  the  eagle-plume  begun — 

"  And  Els-kwa-ta-wa's  prophet  feet 
Have  journeyed  far.     Say,  hath  he  been 
Where  once  the  Shawnee's  home  was  seen  1 
"  Is  it  not  pleasant  still  to  stray 
Where  once  we  dwelt]"  low  words  replied — 
"  His  feet  have  roamed  a  summer's  day 
Scioto's  wandering  stream  beside." — 
"  And  were  its  murmurs  sweet  to  hear  ? 
And  did  the  bending  willows  near 
Sigh  pleasantly,  as  when  we  played 
In  childhood  oft  beneath  their  shade  ]" — 
"  Yes,  brother  :  but  they  seemed  to  mourn 
'The  red  man  may  no  more  return  J'  " — 
"  And  rise  they  still,  those  mighty  trees, 
That  waved  their  old  arms  in  the  breeze 
Above  our  wigwam  long  ago  T' — 
"  Tecumseh,  no  ! — Great  Spirit,  no  ! 
The  white  man's  axe  hath  hewn  them  down  ; 
The  very  spot  were  hardly  known  !" — 
"  'Tis  well :  but  it — the  burial-place, 
Where  slept  of  old  the  Shawnee  race  1" 


40  TECUMSEH. 

He  paused — on  Els-kwa-td-wa  turned 

His  large  dark  eye  that  deeply  burned. 

**  The  Shawnee  graves  ? — The  white-man's  plough 

Hath  passed  them  rudely  through  and  through ! 

Our  ancient  dead  1 — I  saw  them  strown, 

All  white  and  shattered,  bone  by  bone !" 


Tecumseh  sprung,  as  if  a  dart 

Had  pierced  with  barbs  his  swelling  heart 

"  For  this,  of  all  their  wrongs  the  worst, 

Great  Spirit !  let  them  be  accurst ! 

Yet  this  is  well  :  it  nerves  me  more, 

Than  all  our  race  hath  borne  before." 

"  Then  joy  was  mine,"  the  Prophet  said, 

"  That,  borne  afar,  the  cherished  dead, 

Our  sire,  hath  but  a  lonely  rest ; 

For  now  may  nought  his  sleep  molest." 

"Ay  !"  cried  Tecumseh — "lone  his  grave 

By  Mississippi's  distant  wave. 

But,  say,  how  long  ere  that  retreat 

Will  hear  the  tread  of  stranger  feet  ? 

I  see  the  pale,  cold  adder  creep 

And  coil  him  o'er  our  father's  sleep  !" 

Mournfully  in  his  hands  he  bowed 

His  dusky  brow,  the  stern  and  proud. 

"  Too  true  the  vision  meets  thine  eyer" 

Dark  Els-kwa-ta-wa  gave  reply  : 

"  The  red-man  quaffs  the  drink  of  fire, 

Till,  made  a  coward,  slave  and  liar 

Worse  than  the  pale-face,  day  by  day 

He  fools  his  heritage  away. 

Soon  will  the  Father  of  Waters  wide 

Behold  his  forests'  fallen  pride  : 

Yes  !  where  the  Shawnee  chieftain  lies, 

Soon  will  the  white-man's  dwelling  rise  !" 


TECUMSEH.  41 

VII. 

«  No  ! — never  shall  it  be,  till  all 

The  red-man's  race  in  death  shall  fall  ! 

How  many  tribes  dost  thou,  O  Sun, 

Of  thy  dark  children  rise  upon  ? 

War  shall  be  kindled  :  nation,  name, 

Shall  perish  in  the  rolling  flame, 

Or  we  our  heritage  reclaim  !" 

He  paused— and  o'er  his  kindled  face 

The  shades  of  doubt  fell  down  apace : 

"  Would  that  the  oath  this  heart  hath  sworn, 

On  every  Indian's  soul  were  borne  ! 

It  is  not  thus  :  their  wasting  strife 

Against  each  other  whets  the  knife  !" — 

"  This  shall  be  changed.     Since  met  we  last, 

Long  nights  hath  Els-kwa-ta-wa  passed 

By  ancient  graves,  and  in  the  winds 

Strange  voices  heard" : — the  red-men's  minds 

Are  like  dark  waters  ; — o'er  the  deep 

A  wind  hath  blown — their  troubled  sleep 

Conceives  dim  dreamings.     Far  and  near 

The  Prophet's  words  are  words  of  fear  ; 

And  he  hath  told  them,  soon  shall  come 

A  herald  of  the  red-man's  doom 

From  the  Great  Spirit.     Go — Rejoice  : 

Who  like  Tecumseh  hath  a  voice?" — 

"  Thy  words  are  wise  ;  thy  thoughts  are  mine  ; 

This  garb  bespeaks  the  great  design. 

Tecurnseh's  soul  had  said,  go  forth 

Through  the  great  waters  of  the  North, 

Round  the  far  South,  and  o'er  the  West 

By  the  lone  streams,  nor  ever  rest, 

Till  all  the  tribes  united  stand 

In  battle  for  their  native  land." 


42  TECUMSEH. 

VIII. 

"  Thy  words  in  Els-kwa-ta-wa's  ear 
Are  sweet  as  running  waters  near. 
But  knowst  thou  not,  the  stranger  race, 
As  forest  leaves,  are  numberless  ?" — 
"  And  hast  thou  seen  through  forests  deep 
The  whirlwind  of  the  Autumn  sweep? 
Tis  past — the  leaves  lie  dead  and  pale 
By  stream  and  fountain,  hill  and  vale." 
Glowed  fiercer  with  a  furnace-light 
The  Prophet's  eyes  :  "  O  vision  bright ! 
I  see  the  mighty  gathering  : 
The  Prairies  with  their  footsteps  ring: 
I  hear  the  whoop  :  the  red  torch  gleams  : 
Blood — blood  upon  the  hatchet  streams  ! 
The  frontiers  blaze  ! — maid,  son  and  sire 
Sink  with  their  wigwams  rolled  in  fire  !" — 
"  Yes,  brother  :  but  ere  this  may  be 
Long  toil  and  pain  are  mine  to  see. 
That  all  the  tribes  one  chain  may  bind, 
I  journey  with  the  wandering  wind. 
'  Tis  thine  to  let  no  sudden  start 
Untimely  break  the  chain  apart ; 
'Tis  thine  to  mist  the  white-man's  eyes  : 
And  hear  me  !  let  no  sacrifice 
Of  red-men  to  thy  wrath  be  burned, 
Before  Tecumseh  hath  returned." 
Beneath  his  glance  with  cow'ring  eye 
The  crafty  Prophet  made  reply  : 
"Are  Els-kwa-ta-wa's  thoughts  his  own? 
Wise  are  his  brother's  words  alone." — 
"  Tis  well.     Upon  my  journeyings  far 
I  will  outwatch  the  Northern  Star. 
Soon  shall  the  pale  face,  paler  grown, 
Like  snow  drifts  o'er  the  plains  be  strown  : 


TECUMSEH.  43 

Tribes  from  the  setting  sun  shall  haste, 

And  in  the  stranger's  wigwams  feast — 

Ay,  and  Tecumseh's  name  shall  be 

Their  heritage  and  memory  !" 

Then,  parting,  from  that  ancient  mound  they  passed, 
Even  as  they  came,  with  silent  steps  and  fast. 

IX. 

Some  hours  were  gone.     How  still  and  slow 

In  the  vast  solitudes  they  go, 

Where  nought  may  mark  them  to  the  eye, 

Save  the  old  sun  along  the  sky, 

And  mighty  Nature  sits  serene 

With  most  unalterable  mien  ! 

Some  hours  were  past :  the  mists  were  flown — 

So  bright  the  visible  day-god  shone — 

Like  weird  enchanter's  envious  spell, 

From  all  the  scene  immoveable  ; 

And  in  their  place  an  atmosphere 

Filled  the  lone  world,  ethereal,  clear, 

Yet  faintly  gathering,  far  and  dim, 

That  haze  around  the  horizon's  rim, 

Which,  at  the  last,  more  still  and  deep, 

Wraps  heaven  and  earth  in  dreamy  sleep. 

Where  seemed  but  banks  of  haze  to  float, 

By  many  a  billowy  league  remote 

From  that  rude  mound,  upon  the  side 

Of  other  woods  extending  wide» 

Where  other  prairies  stretched  before, 

And  other  waves  ran  darkening  o'er, 

An  Indian  camp  of  wigwams  lay 

Beneath  the  tranquil  noon-tide  ray, 

Lapped  in  the  beauty  of  a  scene 

Which  he,  oh !  he,  who  hath  not  been 

A  rover  through  the  wild,  green  West, 

Can  little  know,  how  brightly  blest 

It  was  in  all  that  could  impart 

A  tide  of  gladness  through  the  heart  I 


44  TECUMSEH. 

X. 

By  the  usurping  stranger  spurned 

Far  from  their  homes,  beloved  and  mourned, 

Where  sweet  Scioto  softly  glides 

Along  her  low  and  willowy  sides, 

A  portion  of  the  Shawnee  race 

Made  here  their  transient  resting-place  : 

And,  leagued  with  them,  for  game  to  roain 

The  wilds  that  are  the  Indian's  home, 

Or  dye  their  hands  in  foemcn's  slaughter, 
Swarth,  fiery  Ottowas  had  come 

From  Huron's  dark-blue  water  ; 
Awaiting  now  their  chiefs'  return, 

Whose  feet,  for  vengeance  on  some  foe, 

Had  borne  him — where  none  sought  to  know — 
Ken-hat-ta-wa,  the  fierce  and  stern, 
Through  whose  dark  veins  great  Pontiac's  blood 
Rolled  all  the  proud  vindictive  mood, 
Which  made  that  name  the  white-man's  dread, 
Even  when  his  mighty  soul  was  fled. 

XL 

A  motley  scene  the  camp  displayed. 
Their  simple  wigwams,  loosely  made 
Of  skins  and  bark,  and  rudely  graced 

With  sylvan  honors  of  the  chase, 
At  scattered  intervals  were  placed 

Beneath  majestic  trees — the  race 
Of  other  years  ;  while,  statelier  reared, 
Alone  and  in  their  midst  appeared 
The  lodge  of  council,  honored  most, 
Yet  unadorned  with  care  or  cost. 
Their  beaded  leggins  closely  bound, 
Their  blankets  wreathed  their  loins  around, 
Whence  rose  each  neck  and  brawny  breast 
Like  bust  of  bronze  with  tufted  crest, 


TECUMSEB.  45 

Around,  the  forest-lords  were  seen — 

Some,  old,  with  grave  and  guarded  mien 

High  converse  holding  in  the  shade — 

Some  idly  on  the  green  turf  laid, 

Or,  girt  with  arms  of  varied  name, 

Repairing  them  for  strife  or  game  ; 

Their  dusky  wives,  from  birth  the  while 

Inured  to  care  and  silent  toil, 

Prepared  the  venison's  savory  food 

And  yellow  corn,  in  sullen  mood, 

Or  sweetly  to  their  infants  sung, 

So  light  in  wicker-cradles  swung 

Upon  the  breeze-rocked  boughs  ;  in  play 

Lithe  urchins  did  their  skill  essay, 

Beneath  some  chief's  approving  eye, 

To  launch  the  feathered  arrow  high, 

The  hatchet  hurl,  or  through  the  air 

Send  the  shrill  whoop  ;  half  robed  or  bare, 

The  youth  would  act  war's  mimic  game, 

Or  strove  their  wild-born  steeds  to  tame — 

Perchance  their  captives  scarce  a  day — •• 

Themselves  untamed  and  wild  as  they ; 

While  sat  beneath  the  green  leaves  fading 

Young  maids,  their  chequered  baskets  braiding, 

Whose  merry  laugh  or  silvery  call 

Oft  rang  most  sweet  and  musical, 

Whose  glancing  black  eyes  often  stole 

To  view  the  worshipped  of  their  soul : 

And  ever  in  th'  invisible  breeze 

Waved  solemnly  those  tall  old  trees, 
And  fleecy  clouds,  above  the  prairies  flying, 
Led  the  light  shadows,  chasing,  chased  and  dying. 

XII. 

Why  start  they  all  1  A  whoop  is  heard, 

As  from  exulting  victor  near ; 
A  form — another — lo  !  a  third 
4 


46  ItCUMSEH. 

Doth  in  the  forest  depths  appear. 
The  first  is  he,  that  ruthless  brave, 
Who  stood  by  broad  Ohio's  wave — 
The  scalps  are  in  his  girdle  yet : 
The  next — O  may  his  soul  be  met, 
Through  life,  by  fiends  of  wrath  and  fear 
And  black  remorse,  accurst  De  Vere  ! 
The  last — poor  girl !  how  wan  and  worn  ! 
Her  steps  are  faint — her  limbs  are  torn — 
The  tears  are  frozen  in  that  eye 
Which  heedless  looks  on  vacancy — 
Nor  ever  doth  she  raise  her  head, 
Where'er  her  faltering  feet  may  tread. 
Thy  face — it  hath  a  paler  cast, 
Dear  Mary  !  since  we  saw  thee  last ; 
Yet  oh !  how  pure,  how  sadly  fair, 
Seen  through  thy  dark  dishevelled  hair — 
The  marble  beauty  void  of  breath, 
Which  charms  the  chaste,  cold  kiss  of  Death  ! 
Oh  !  in  that  face  subdued  their  lies 
The  soul  of  many  agonies  ! 
Sweet  one  !  there  is  an  Eye  above 
Looks  down  on  thee  with  pitying  love. 
All,  thronging,  gaze — and,  gazing,  stand  ; 
But  stern  Ken-hat-ta-wa  waves  his  hand 
With  angry  gesture  of  command, 
Then  in  the  lodge,  reserved  and  proud, 
Awaits  the  council's  gathering  crowd. 

XIII. 

In  dark  array  they  sat  around, 

Nor  uttered  syllable  nor  sound, 

Unmoved  as  images  of  stone, 

Or  bodies  whence  the  life  hath  flown, 

From  whose  cold  features,  carved  and  stern, 

No  thought  might  searching  gazer  learn. 

As  speechless  sank  the  maiden  there, 


TECUMSEH. 

In  listless  pain  and  mere  despair. 
She  did  not  weep,  she  did  not  sigh, 
But  sat  with  fixed  and  stony  eye, 
And  moveless  limbs,  and  lips  apart, 
And  bosom  hushed,  and  pulseless  heart, 
And  forehead  in  her  pale  hand  leant, 
As  she  were  wrought,  the  monument 
Of  all  unuttered  grief  below — 
Th'  ideal  of  immortal  wo  ! 
But  memory — ah,  where  was  it  1 

Unconscious  of  the  present  lot, 
Through  time  and  season  did  it  flit, 

And  hover  round  the  thrice-loved  spot — 
The  dell,  the  stream,  the  fount,  the  flowers, 
Home  of  her  childhood's  happy  hours — 
And  round  the  forms,  the  faces  bright, 
The  loved,  the  lost,  who  were  its  light  ? 
In  sooth,  I  know  not ;  but,  where'er 
Her  soul,  it  was  not  present  there  ! 
At  last  an  aged  Sachem  rose, 
With  whitened  head  of  hundred  snows  : 
"  What  doth  Ken-hat-ta-wa  require  ? 
Why  burns  for  him  the  council-fire  ? 
Wise  thoughts  do  with  our  brother  dwell. 
Our  ears  are  open.     Let  him  tell." 

XIV. 

The  chieftain  spake,  the  maiden  near : 
"  Hear,  brothers  ;  sages,  warriors,  hear. 
When  was  the  Ottowa's  feathered  dart 
Last  reddened  in  the  white-man's  heart1? 
When  blazed  the  stranger's  wigwam  last, 
And  shrieked  the  pallid  maid  aghast  1 
Lo  !  many  moons  have  seen  the  slain — 
I  would  that  time  were  come  again  ! — 
'Twas  then  my  father  fell,  by  one 
Of  bloodless  heart,  a  coward's  son  ! 


48  TECUMSEH. 

And  I  to  A-re-ous-ki  made — 
When  was  the  Ottawa's  oath  unpaid  1 — 
In  my  young  years  a  vow,  my  knife 
Should  cleave  his  scalp  and  drink  his  life. 
But  he  for  many  winters  kept 
His  home  afar,  and  vengeance  slept. 
Late  to  Miami's  rushing  water 
He  brought  his  squaw,  his  son  and  daughter  ; 
Our  pale-faced  brother,  Vere,  my  guide, 
I  stood  their  wigwam-fire  beside, 
I  slew  them  all,  the  young,  the  old, 
Save  this  pale  maid — their  scalps  behold  : — 
Not  unavenged  the  son  of  Pontiac  died  I 

xv. 

"  But  skulking  wolves  were  on  our  trail. 

We  coursed,  beneath  the  moon  beams  pale, 

Ohio's  tide.     A  shot  was  sped. 

Brothers,  Oo-loo-ra's  spirit  fled  ! — 

My  father's  best  beloved  son — 

The  murmuring  brook — the  bounding  wave — 
The  panther  fleet — the  eagle  brave  ; 

His  warrior  race  was  just  begun — 
Cold  is  his  grave  ! 

And  shall  the  Indian  pass  from  day 

And  none  attend  him  on  the  way  1 

No,  brothers  !     A-re-ous-ki  bade 

My  hand  to  slay  the  pale-faced  maid, 

Who  might  Oo-loo-ra's  slave  become 

Far  in  the  red-man's  happy  home. 

'T  were  done — but  lo  !  our  brother  cried, 

She  was  his  captive,  and  his  bride 

Must  be,  and  in  his  wigwam  dwell. 

The  Ottowa  spared  her  then  :  'tis  well : 

Let  Pale-flower  now  my  brother  wed. 

It  is  enough — my  words  are  said." 


TECUMSEH.  49 


XVI. 

Love  struggling  in  exulting  eye 
With  shame  and  hate,  De  Vere  drew  nigh. 
Soft,  earnest  to  her  ear  were  borne 
His  words,  yet  sounding  half  in  scorn  : 
"  Dear  lady,  view  me  not  with  hate, 
That  thou  art  here  alone  with  Fate. 
It  ne'er  had  been,  if  thou,  I  swear, 
Hadst  been  more  lenient  or  less  fair  ! 
But,  Mary,  now  no  longer  rove  ; 
Fly,  fly  with  me  and  Hope  and  Love. 
Thou  ne'er  wast  lovelier  in  thy  grace  : 
Oh  !  die  not,  nor,  if  saved,  embrace 
Lone  years  of  grief ! — Come,  give  to  me 
Thy  haughty  charms,  and  peril  flee  : 
What  sweet  existence  may  we  have 
In  some  bright  home  beyond  the  wave  ! 
Thou  art  an  orphan. — Be  my  bride, 
And  none  shall  harm  thee  by  my  side  : 
But,  else,  not  even  my  love  can  save 
From  savage  wrath — an  early  grave  !" 

XVII. 

As  if  the  Promethean  fire 
A  marble  statue  might  inspire, 
Or  Beauty  from  the  couch  of  Death 
Were  wakened  by  its  Maker's  breath, 
She  sprung  from  earth.  With  jet-like  start 
Rushed  the  red  fountain  of  her  heart 
Through  each  blue  vein,  and  hues  of  flame 
Lightened  o'er  all  her  swelling  frame, 
Burned  through  her  forehead  pale  and  high, 
And  kindled  in  her  lustrous  eye  ; 
And  trembling  words  she  uttered  there, 
Of  indignation,  not  of  fear. 
"  Thy  bride  ? — There 's  blood  upon  thy  hand  '. 
4* 


50  TECUMSEH. 

For  life,  and  all  life  could  command, 

I  would  not  clasp  it,  stained  and  red 

With  life-blood  from  my  parents  shed  ! 

Wreteh  ! — should  1  to  such  baseness  turn. 

My  heart  would  through  my  bosom  burn  ! 

An  orphan  ? — Murderer  !  who  so  well 

As  thou  this  saddest  truth  could  tell  1 

Thy  love  and — life  7 — 'T  were  curst,  the  lot  \ 

'Tis  life  to  be  where  thou  art  not  1 

Thee  or  the  grave  1 — I  'd  rather  wed 

Pale  Death,  and  sleep  among  the  dead, 

Than  in  thy  guilt  take  such  a  part ! 

Go  ! — burdened  with  thy  own  black  heart ! 

My  brother — parents — they  are  blest ; 

Oh  !  were  I  with  them  and  at  rest !" 

XVIII. 

Her  bare  right  arm  uplifted  high, 

All  light  her  large  and  glowing  eye, 

And  her  whole  frame  dilated — fired — 

She  looked  the  Pythoness  inspired  ; 

Nor  one  rude  warrior  there,  but  gazed 

In  admiration — wrapt — amazed. 

De  Vere,  thus  baffled,  taunted,  spurned, 

Love,  scorn,  to  livid  fury  turned  : 

"  My  love,  my  mercy  thus  defy  7 

Chief !  she  is  thine — and  let  her  die  !" — 

One  swarthy  hand  a  hatchet  grasped, 

And  one  in  savage  triumph  clasped 

The  maiden's  arm — when,  slow  from  pain, 

The  aged  Shawnee  rose  again  : 

"  Ken-hat- ta-wa  is  great  and  wise  ; 

But  let  him  look  with  open  eyes. 

The  brave  Tecumseh's  words  were  good  : 

"  One  league  for  terror,  strife  and  blood 

Must  all  our  far-spread  tribes  unite  ; 

Then  shall  the  pale-face  sink  to  night, 


TECUMSEH.  51 

Nor  one  on  earth  remain  to  say, 

While  lonely  wandering,: — 'where  are  they?'  " 

But  not  by  single  captives  slain 

Seek  we  our  country  to  regain  ; 

Nor  thus  the  white-man's  sleep  awake, 

Ere  all  the  gathered  tempest  break. 
Brothers — my  words  with  you  remain." 

xix. 

A  murmur  of  applause  went  round. 
The  chieftain  caught  the  ominous  sound, 
Then,  not  as  for  his  own  dark  plan, 
But  for  the  red-man's  wrongs,  began, 
And  strove  to  charm  their  native  sense 
With  artful  words  of  eloquence. 
"  Brothers — is  not  our  vision  clear  ? 
Lo  !  let  us  speak  of  things  that  were. 
Time  was,  the  red-man's  race  was  strong  : 
In  love  and  peace  they  dwelt  along 
The  great  salt-waters  :  all  the  day 
They  chased  upon  the  hills  their  prey, 
And  o'er  the  plains — or  through  the  streams 
The  sweet  fish  caught ;  and  in  their  dreams 
The  Great  Manitto  by  them  stood, 
And  told  them  to  be  just  and  good. 
Then  were  the  red-men  happy — then 
Lords  of  the  valley,  lake  and  glen, 
Brave  in  the  battle,  wise  in  peace  !" 

Watching  their  gaze  grow  fixed,  intense, 

He  urged  the  tide  of  eloquence  : 
"Why,  warriors,  do  these  glories  cease  ? 
What  Indian  needs  to  hear  me  tell  1 
The  white  man  came  ;  we  loved  him  well ; 
We  gave  him  food,  we  gave  him  fire, 
Skins,  shelter,  all  he  could  require. 
'Twas  not  enough.     They  wanted  more  : 
We  shrank  their  deadly  arms  before  ; 


52  TECUMSEH. 

They  followed  us  like  hungry  hounds  ; 
They  drove  us  from  our  hunting  grounds — 
Not  unresisting  !     No  ! — we  bled, 
Till  with  our  blood  the  streams  ran  red  !" 

xx. 

Fierce,  glowing,  grew  each  warrior's  eye, 
Each  grasped  his  knife  convulsively — 
"  Where  red-men,  are  your  fathers'  graves  ? 
They  lie  within  a  land  of  slaves  ! 
Far  in  the  east  our  race  begun : 
Still  flee  we  towards  the  setting  sun  7 
No  !     Let  our  vengeance  roll  its  tide 
And  whelm  them  on  their  heights  of  pride  ! 
Nor  wait  we  till  the  cunning  foe 
Our  counsels,  plans  and  movements  know  : 
The  war-cry  raised — the  hatchet  red — 
Dark  thousands  will  the  war-path  tread. 
A  victim,  lo  !  before  your  eyes  : 
'Tis  A-re-ous-ki's  sacrifice  ! 
We'll  slay  her  to  our  warrior-god — 
We'll  dye  our  hands — we'll  drink  her  blood — 
Then  on  our  foes  in  terror  swoop, 
And  send  to  heaven  the  appalling — WHOOP  !" 


Starting  the  well  known  sound  to  hear — 
That  sound  of  wrath,  revenge  and  fear — 
The  whole  wild  throng  tumultuous  rose, 
With  yells  of  rage  and  threatened  blows  ; 
Knives,  hatchets  gleamed,  and  war-clubs  rung, 
A  hundred  towards  the  maiden  sprung — 
But  suddenly  another  shout 
Burst  from  the  eager  crowd  without, 
A  cry  of  victory,  which  said 
Another  captive  home  was  led. 


TECUMSEH, 

As  at  a  signal  of  command, 

The  weapons  sank  in  every  hand  ; 

And  when  Ken-hat-ta-wa  was  told, 

This  captive  was  the  pale-face  bold, 

Who  sent  from  out  the  rock's  high  breast, 

Oo-loo-ra's  spirit  to  its  rest, 

His  soul's  relentless  flame  was  turned, 

And  now  for  him  as  fiercely  burned. 

He  thrust  aside  the  dusky  throng., 

He  strode  its  living  walls  along, 

And,  seizing  him,  with  sudden  whirl 

Dragged  him  before  the  gazing  girl. 

XXII. 

One  moment  met  their  searching  eyes 

In  the  first  stillness  of  surprise  ; 

For  both  were  changed,  how  changed  !  by  years 

Of  toil,  and  suffering,  and  tears. 

But  recognition  burst  its  shroud, 

As  lightning  through  the  summer  cloud. 

He  cast  no  fearful  glance  around  him, 

He  started  from  the  grasp  that  bound  him — 

"  O  Henry  !"— "  Mary  '."—face  to  face, 

Bosom  to  bosom,  heart  to  heart, 
They  met  in  mutual  mute  embrace, 
Unconscious  of  the  time  or  place — 

Why  should  such  spirits  ever  part  1 

xxm. 

Alas  !  on  earth  few  part  to  meet, 

None  meet  except  to  part  again  : 
A  few  fond  moments,  O  how  fleet ! 
Then  comes  the  agony,  the  pain. 
And  this  knew  they  :  for  in  each  eye 
They  read  their  fearful  destiny, 
To  be  one  moment  thus — then  sever 

For  lingering  pain,  or  instant  fate, 


53 


54  TECUMSEH. 

Torn  from  each  other's  eyes  forever. 

Yet  while  around  was  wild  debate, 
With  angry  gestures,  hurried  breath, 
By  what  most  torturing  cruel  death 
Should  Moray  die,  all  heedless  they 
Reclining  on  the  bare  earth  lay, 

Ev'n  at  the  feet  of  that  stern  chief, 
With  heart-choked,  broken  words,  and  tears — 

Tears  of  despair,  of  joy,  of  grief, 
And  most  unuttered  love,  whose  years 
Into  one  burning  point  were  prest, 
As,  palely  pillowed,  on  his  breast 
Her  cold  cheek  rested — where  the  kiss 
Might  never  be  repeated — and  in  rays, 
That  trembled  dewy  through  their  swimming  gaze, 
Their  souls  were  blent.     Oh  !  agony  of  bliss  ! 
Was  ever  meeting  on  the  earth  like  this  ! 

XXIV. 

Ken-hat-ta-wa,  with  furious  start, 

Tore  their  forlorn  embrace  apart, 

And,  turning  Moray  towards  the  sun, 

"Is  Pale-face,"  said  he,  "good  to  run?" 

Self-trained  in  youth  and  boyish  days, 

And  after  in  the  perilous  ways 

The  hunter  treads,  wild  woods  among, 

Young  Moray  was  as  fleet  and  strong 

As  stag  across  the  plain  that  bounds, 

When  yell  behind  the  eager  hounds. 

Deceiving  then  the  cunning  foe, 

"  My  steps,"  he  said,  "  are  weak  and  slow." 

Those  words  received  th'  excited  crowd, 

With  frantic  gestures— shoutings  loud  ; 

And  seizing  in  their  tawny  hands 

Knives,  hatchets,  clubs,  or  smoking  brands, 

They  ranged  in  two  long  lines,  to  greet 

With  death  the  captive's  faltering  feet, 


TECUMSEH.  56 

As  tortured  demons,  grim  and  fell, 
Conduct  a  lost  soul  down  to  hell. 

xxv. 

As  Moray  to  this  fearful  pass 

Was  hurried  forth,  the  maiden  gazed, 

As  with  a  dream  she  were  amazed, 
Or  through  enchanter's  shadowy  glass 
All  vaguely  looked  ;  and  when  arose 
Loud  whoopings  soon,  with  clanging  blows, 
And  wild  forms  rushed  before  her  sight, 

The  dews  of  death  sprang  fast  and  chill 

O'er  all  her  frame — her  heart  grew  still — 
She  fell  to  earth,  and  all  was  night. 
Oh  !  not  in  vain  ! — for  else  that  hour 
Of  thought's  most  agonizing  power 
Had  driven  her  reason  from  its  throne, 
Or  spirit  to  the  world  unknown. 

XXVI. 

When  posted  there,  with  eagle  glance 

The  captive  saw  his  only  chance 

Of  saving  life,  and,  far  too  wise 

To  run,  a  certain  sacrifice, 

The  deadly  gantlet,  quick  as  light 

From  a  tall  warrior  at  his  right 

He  wrenched  an  axe,  with  one  swift  blow 

His  huge  head  clove  through  bone  and  brain, 

Then  o'er  his  corse  along  the  plain 
Sped  like  an  arrow  from  the  bow. 
In  mute  surprise  th'  expectant  foe 
A  moment  held  th'  uplifted  stroke, 
Then  into  angry  tumult  broke. 
A  hundred  hurtling  spears  were  flung, 
A  hundred  winged  arrows  sung, 
A  hundred  hurled  bright  hatchets  rung — 
But  vainly  all,— for  he  had  sprung, 


56  TECUMSEH. 

Like  reindeer  through  the  forest  dashed — - 
Whereon  their  missiles  idly  crashed — 
And  onward  far  and  free  had  striven, 
A  cloud  before  the  tempest  driven  ! 

XXVII. 

The  ground,  o'er  which  his  course  he  laid, 

Was  at  the  first  a  rolling  glade, 

With  huge  and  lofty  trees  o'ergrown, 

Each  standing  by  itself  alone, 

While  all  the  intervals  between 

Were  spread  with  grassy  carpet  green, 

Where,  in  the  distance  wending  wide, 

The  desert's  browsing  herds  were  spied. 

Past  this,  beneath  the  glare  of  day 

A  rugged,  brambly  barren  lay, 

Of  narrower  space  ;  and  then  the  vast, 

Th'  illimitable,  gray  and  waste, 

That  prairie,  on  whose  verge  extreme, 

Far,  far  beyond  the  utmost  sight, 
That  mound  arose  in  noontide  gleam, 

Which  greeted  first  the  morning's  light. 

XXVIII. 

On,  on  he  flew,  death  in  the  rear, 
And  winged  at  once  by  hope  and  fear, 
While  whooping  in  his  frighted  ear 

As  fast  the  foe  pursued  ; 
For  life,  for  life  he  strove  in  pain, 
Revenge,  their  lost  revenge  to  gain, 
They  urged  the  maddening  chase  amain 

Far  through  th'  extended  wood. 
As  passed  the  strange  confounded  flight, 
The  wild-deer  started  with  affright, 
The  wild-bull  tossed  his  shaggy  head 
And  through  the  forest  bellowing  fled, 
The  tameless  steeds,  with  trampling  tread, 


TECUMSEH.  67 

Approached,  wheeled,  snorted  in  amaze, 
And  turned,  and  turned  again,  to  gaze  ; 
While  objects  all  in  mingled  throng, 
As  Moray  breathless  flew  along, 
So  dim  and  quickly  passed  his  eye, 
As  vanished  scenes  do  hurry  by 
The  eyes  of  crazed  memory  ! 

xxix. 

He  cleared  the  wood,  he  trode  the  plain, 
He  heeded  not  the  constant  pain 
Of  feet  by  stones,  and  creeping  thorn, 
And  roots,  and  straggling  briers,  torn, 
But  forward  stretched  before  the  wind 
Of  swift  pursuit  that  swept  behind. 
And  now  he  reached  the  prairie's  edge  ; 
The  wild-grass,  faded  flowers  and  sedge 
Were  waving  tangled,  thick  and  high, 
Wherever  roamed  his  straining  eye. 
He  could  not  turn,  he  might  not  stay, 
He  must  its  unknown  depths  essay. 
With  headlong  leap  he  sprung  and  urged, 
Beneath  its  billowy  surface  merged, 
His  struggling  footsteps  blindly  on — 
How  hardly  may  his  race  be  won  ! 
With  yell  and  rout,  like  wintry  storm, 
Rushed  after  many  a  dusky  form, 
Vindictive,  nearest  of  the  near, 
The  Ottowa  with  his  ashen  spear  : 
Nor  wilder  chase  was  e'er  beheld, 
As  dark  above  the  surface,  swelled 
By  passing  breeze,  with  angry  cries 
A  thousand  tufted  heads  would  rise, 
By  spring  and  bound,  then  at  a  breath 
Sink  momently  unseen  beneath. 
A  toilsome  mile  is  left  behind, 
More  freshly  breathes  the  autumn  wind — 
5 


58  TECUMSEH. 

Pause  ! — pause  ! — what  roar,  of  tempest-sound, 
Convulses  air  and  shakes  the  ground  ? 
Full  well  the  Indians  knew,  and  back 
With  speed  the  rest  retraced  their  track  ; 
But  still  the  chief  would  urge  the  chase, 
O'ertake  the  victim's  slackening  pace 
With  red-hand  vengeance,  then  retreat ; 
And  Moray  still  his  toiling  feet 
Pressed  on,  though  in  amaze  and  fear — 
Undoubted  death  was  in  the  rear ! 

xxx. 

He  reached  a  swell— amazement  grew 
Ten-fold  before  th'  appalling  view. 
The  prairie  was  on  fire  !  Afar, 
With  semblance  of  destroying  war, 
In  army  widening  as  it  came, 
On  strode  the  vast,  consuming  flame. 
A  league  away,  and  on  each  hand 
Beyond  the  utmost  ken,  and  fanned 
By  swift  hot  airs,  in  massive  sweep 
The  lofty  columns,  red  and  deep, 
Wide-waving  rushed — with  furnace-glare 
Wreathing  their  spiral  arms  in  air, 
Or  bending  to  the  earth  ;  and,  where 
The  withered  grass  was  serer  grown, 
Long  lines  ran  forth  and  blazed  alone  ; 
And  ever  flames,  like  steeds  of  fire, 
Did  mount  and  lift  them  high  and  higher. 
Fast — fast  they  came  !   The  earth  before 
Was  swept  with  a  continuous  roar, 
That  filled  all  heaven  ;  above  them  high 
Glowed  tremulous  the  heated  sky, 
As  one  great  furnace,  where,  upsent, 
Flaked  cinders  strewed  the  firmament; 
But  ne'er  was  seen  their  fearful  track, 
How  waste,  and  desolate,  and  black, 


TECUMSEH. 

For,  all  behind,  in  billows  broke, 
Convulsed  and  rolled,  a  sea  of  smoke. 
And — lo  !  what  darkly  heaving  mass 
Confused  before  the  fires  doth  pass  1 
Enormous  herd  !  Unconscious  caught 
By  some  green  course,  with  terror  fraught, 
Th'  unwieldly  bisons,  driven  along, 
Heaved,  pitched  the  grassy  swells  among, 
Like  huge,  black  creatures  of  the  sea, 
With  bellowings  of  mad  agony, 
That  rose  above  the  roaring  flame  : 
Right  towards  that  rising  ground  they  came, 
In  heedless  course  and  headlong ! — Where 
Shall  Moray  fly  in  this  despair  1 

xxxi. 

Less  merciful  the  savage  foe, 
Than  fire  or  furious  buffalo. 
Aslant  he  fled,  if  so  he  might 
Escape  the  vast  herds'  frantic  flight. 
Brief  time  he  strove,  he  sprang,  he  flew, 
When  lo !  so  near  their  breath  he  drew, 
With  shaggy  bulk,  and  tumbling  leap, 
And  foamy  mouth,  and  bellowings  deep, 
And  eye  that  glowed,  and  tossing  head, 
On — on  they  plunged,  their  myriad-tread 
Trampling  the  earth  with  thunder  !  Fast 
Still  Moray  fled,  this  peril  past : — 
The  flames  were  near — he  felt  their  breath — 
He  stood  their  lurid  ranks  beneath — 
He  saw  them  tread  the  quivering  reeds 
In  wrath,  and  rise,  like  warrior-steeds, 
To  whelm  him  down  : — he  looked — how  near 
Ken-hat-ta-wa's  brandished,  fatal  spear  ! 
No  more — he  turned  his  blinded  gaze, 
And  rushed  into  the  glaring  blaze. 


59 


60  TECUMSEH. 

The  spear  sang  past  him  through  the  fire, 

And,  yelling  in  his  baffled  ire, 

The  chief  pursued  with  maddened  mind, 

While  closed  the  dark-red  walls  behind. 

Scorched  by  the  flames  through  which  he  broke, 

With  ashes  smothered,  wrapped  in  smoke, 

And  treading,  every  step  he  took, 

With  bleeding  bare  feet's  blistering  soles 

O'er  burning  roots  and  glowing  coals, 

The  weary  captive  staggered  on, 

Nor  knew  what  way  his  course  might  run, 

Till  all  the  blackened  air  and  ground 

Spun  like  a  mighty  whirlpool  round, 

When  suddenly  he  faltered — fell — 

What  passed  beside  he  might  not  tell. 

XXXII. 

He  woke — what  were  they  ]  Dungeon  bars, 
Through  which  looked  down  the  silent  stars 
And  calmly  smiled  at  him  ] — In  pain 
Of  throbbing  eyes  and  dizzy  brain, 
And  limbs  that  hardly  might  be  raised,' 
He  half  arose  and  round  him  gazed. 
It  was  a  pit,  deep,  damp  and  round, 
Beneath  the  prairie's  level  ground, 
Wherein  the  greener  grass  that  grew, 
And  reeds,  yet  moist  with  rain  or  dew, 
Were  scathed  not  by  the  fiery  scourge 
That  rolled  above  its  rapid  surge, 
And,  bending  o'er  his  helpless  trance, 
Had  veiled  him  from  the  savage  glance. 
He  breathed  a  prayer,  and  climbing  thence, 
Strove  to  awake  each  deadened  sense. 
Some  stars  were  on  the  cloudless  sky, 
The  moon  was  riding  pale  and  high, 
And  looked  with  that  most  tranquil  mien 
Upon  how  desolate  a  scene  ! 


TECUMSEH.  61 

As  when  the  orbed  Earth  is  burned, 

Some  wandering  spirit,  back  returned, 

Beneath  lone  Luna's  waning  ray 

May  all  the  wasted  world  survey, 

Throughout  whose  prospect  still  and  wide 

No  living  thing  shall  be  descried, 

Beast,  bird,  nor  flower,  nor  waving  tree, 

But  all  of  bare,  bleak  lava  be, 

Spread  dark,  or  glittering  ghastly-bright :     • 

So  Moray  in  that  silent  light 

Beheld,  where'er  he  turned  his  eyes, 

No  shrub  nor  plant  nor  leaf  arise, 

Nor  reed  that  quivered  in  the  air, 

But  all  was  cold  and  black  and  bare  ; 

Save  in  the  North  a  distant  glare 

Upon  the  heavens  was  redly  cast, 

Where  the  far-marching  flames  were  passed, 
Blent  with  their  blue  in  fearful  hues  sublime. 
Like  the  last  burnings  of  the  sphere  of  Time  ! 

XXXIII. 

And  she,  who  on  the  cold  earth  fell, 
What  of  her  must  the  minstrel  tell  f 
When  all  the  men  had  joined  the  chase, 

The  Indian  maidens  gathered  round, 
And,  gazing  on  her  pale  fair  face, 

They  pitying  raised  her  from  the  ground, 
And  laid  her  in  a  wigwam  near, 

Beneath  the  sunlight's  glancing  beams  ; 
Then,  half  in  wonder,  half  in  fear, 
They  bent  above  her  deeply  sleeping — 

Her  spirit  in  the  land  of  dreams — 
And  wiped  her  cheek  still  wet  with  weeping, 
And  fondly  strove  to  waken  her 
With  touches  soft  and  lightest  stir, 
And  musical  and  gentle  words, 
Like  the  first  notes  of  early  birds, 
5* 


TECTTMSEH. 

Calling  her  there  the  "  Moon's  pale  daughter"- 
"  Snow-born" — the  "  Lily-of-the- Water  !" 
"Awake,"  they  said,  "  Oh  !  back  return, 

Sweet  spirit,  from  the  Dreamy  Land  ! 
Thou  mayst  not  meet  those  shapes  that  mourn, 

Nor  clasp  yon  shadowy  hand  ! 
They  wait  for  thee  in  th'  Islands  Bright — 

They  call— yet  haste  not  now  away  ! 
Leave  not  the  air  and  Earth's  glad  light — 

Awake — return — we  pray  !" 
'Twas  vain.     All  hushed  the  maiden  lay, 

Nor  once  unclosed  her  shrouded  eye, 
While  cloudy  tremors  lightly  play 

O'er  pallid  breast  and  forehead  high, 

As  shadows  o'er  the  moon-lit  sky, 
The  only  signs  that  life  was  left 
To  her  of  all  but  life  bereft. 

XXXIV. 

While  thus  she  slept  and  they  stood  round, 
With  whoop,  and  yell,  and  maniac  bound, 
And  breasts,  where  ten-fold  fury  burned, 
The  baffled  Indians  back  returned. 
They  burst  into  that  gentle  throng — 
They  drowned  their  low  and  chaunted  song — 
They  broke  the  maiden's  painful  sleep, 
And,  hurrying  her  with  curses  deep, 
Fast  bound  her  to  the  Tree  of  Death, 
Whose  thunder-smitten  arms  were  bare, 
Nor  wooed,  through  all  the  tardy  year, 
Or  vernal  sun  or  summer's  breath, 
While,  ghastly  painted,  o'er  the  whole 
Where  shapes  to  scare  the  victim's  soul. 
That  so  much  beauty  thus  should  die 
Drew  ev'n  from  base  De  Vere  a  sigh  : 
His  heart — the  hard  and  black  with  sin — 
Grew  sick,  and  sank  his  breast  within — 


TECUMSEH.  63 

Nay,  still,  though  scorned,  within  him  dwelt 
The  love  which  he  had  truly  felt. 
He  flew  to  her  :  "  O  God  !  Yet  flee, 
Poor  girl,  this  fearful  destiny  !" 
She  spoke  not — but  her  flash  of  scorn 
Through  all  his  inmost  soul  was  borne. 
"  Then  die  !"  he  cried,  with  madness  tost, 
And  from  that  hour  his  soul  was  lost. 

xxxv. 

And  now  the  warriors'  dusky  ring 

With  spears,  and  flint-tipt  shafts  to  wing, 

And  glittering  tomahawks  to  hurl, 

Encircleth  far  the  speechless  girl : 

Was  e'er  so  fair  a  mark  to  try 

Their  cruel,  cool  dexterity  ! 

An  arrow  flew,  that,  quivering  by, 

Brushed  the  long  lashes  of  her  eye  ; 

A  javelin  sung — like  beam  of  light 

It  bore  within  her  a'rm  its  flight, 

And  trembled  by  her  bosom  bare  ; 

A  hatchet  gleamed — it  grazed  her  cheek, 
Cut  the  dark  ringlets  of  her  hair, 

Then,  like  a  guilty  thing,  did  seek 
To  hide  it  in  that  withered  trunk  : 
Yet  never  once  she  quailed  or  shrunk, 
Nor  did  a  pang  pass  through  her  heart 
From  cherished  life  so  soon  to  part, 
For,  learning  Moray  still  was  free, 
Love's  joy  had  conquered  agony  ! 
With  folded  hands  across  her  breast, 
She  looked  up  to  her  place  of  rest ; 
And  as  the  sun's  descending  blaze 
Lit  up  her  face  with  seraph  rays, 
Which  else  had  looked  too  sad  for  Heaven, 
She  seemed  of  those,  to  whom  'tis  given 


64  TECUMSEH. 

To  wander  by  celestial  streams  — 
We  see  such  beings  in  our  dreams  ! 

xxxvi. 

Still  were  the  skilful  weapons  cast, 
And  every  moment  seemed  her  last, 
But,  fierce  for  death  so  long  delayed, 
The  chieftain  rushed  upon  the  maid, 
As  if  she  were  his  deadliest  foe  : 
"  Oo-loo-ra,"  cried  he,  "  bids  thee  go  ! 
He  heaved  his  war-club  o'er  her  head, 
He  swung  it  back  to  strike  her  dead — 
Like  whirlwind  from  the  mountain-cloud, 
A  warrior  burst  that  savage  crowd, 
The  huge  club  from  the  Ottowa  wrung, 
And  hurled  it  o'er  the  astonished  throng. 
Then  stood  a  moment  stern  and  high, 
Glancing  around  indignantly : 
And  ere  they  from  their  wonder  woke, 
Tecumseh  thus  the  stillness  broke. 

XXXVII. 

"  What  mean  ye  thus  ?  Is  this  array 

Against  an  armed  foe  to-day  ] 

Or  are  ye — mighty  warriors  ! — drawn 

Like  wolves  against  one  timid  fawn? — 

Brothers — where  hath  your  wisdom  flown 

For  what  can  this  pale  flower  atone  ? 

For  loss  of  that  broad  heritage 

Our  fathers  owned  from  age  to  age  ? 

For  broken  faith  1  for  scorn  of  slaves  1 

For  exile  from  our  fathers'  graves  1 

For  added  wrongs — derided  pain] 

For  blood  of  red-men  spilt  like  rain  1 

For  injuries  of  many  years, 

Stored  in  our  hearts  too  deep  for  tears  1 


TECUMSEH.  65 

Can  women,  maids  and  captives  make 
Atonement  for  a  nation's  sake  ] 
No  !  warriors,  no  !  our  wrongs  require 
A  vengeance  mightier,  nobler,  higher  ! 
She  hath  not  wronged  us — 'tis  her  race  : 
On  them  the  storm  shall  fall  apace  ! 
But,  know,  our  fathers'  sons  must  be 
From  blood  of  girls  and  captives  free, 
Nor  by  a  rash  and  useless  deed 
Bring  war  before  the  hour  of  need. 
The  Ottowa,  too,  is  brave  and  strong  : 

But  better  had  he  wait,  and  stay 

The  battle's  tide,  than  ruthless  slay 
A  bird,  that  never  did  him  wrong  !" 
Thus  ended  he,  and  cut  her  bands, 
Nor  any  stayed  the  warrior's  hands. 

XXXVIII. 

With  tempest-brow,  and  fiery  eye, 

And  words  by  haughty  anger  brief, 
Ken-hat-ta-wa  made  fierce  reply  : 

"  And  what  art  thou,  usurping  chief, 
That  thou  arraignest  deeds  of  mine, 
Or  speak'st  of  wide  and  high  design 
To  one  of  Pontiac's  matchless  line, 
Famed  further  back  than  thou  canst  trace 
The  fathers  of  thy  craven  race  1 — 
Or  durst  a  captive  take  away, 
Whom  his  vindictive  hand  would  slay  ? 
My  father,  many  a  winter  gone, 

His  death-wound  from  her  father  met ; 
Her  lover  slew  my  father's  son — 

Can  e'er  the  Indian's  heart  forget  1 
Thou  think'st  of  vengeance — so  do  I — 
But  half  revenge  is  misery  ! 
I  hate  a  white  man !  I  would  sheathe 
My  thirsting  knife  in  all  that  breathe  ! 


66  TECUMSEH. 

But,  since  thou  lov'st  the  maid  so  well, 
Let  Pale-flower  in  thy  wigwam  dwell, 
That  thine  may  be  degenerate  sons, 
More  friendly  to  the  pale-faced  ones 
Than  were  thy  fathers.     She  no  more, 
By  night  or  day,  on  lake  or  shore, 
May  fear  Ken-hat-ta-wa.     But  vain 
Is  now  our  league — the  broken  chain 
Shall  never  bind  us  more : — and  when 
I,  with  my  chiefs  and  mighty  men, 
Have  helped  to  sweep  from  off  the  earth 
This  pallid  foe — Fear's  coward  birth — 
Then  shall  Tecumseh's  head  incur 
The  vengeance  that  was  meant  for  her  !" 

xxxix. 

He  turned  and  waved  his  swarthy  hand, 
At  whose  mute  call  the  Ottowa  band 
Ranged  lowering  round  on  either  side, 
Alike  defying  and  defied. 
Then  with  a  quick  but  measured  tread, 
Nor  ever  turning  once  the  head, 
They  strode  along  the  green-wood  glade 
Soon  lost  in  night's  descending  shade. 
Tecumseh,  deigning  no  reply, 
Except  a  calm  and  scornful  eye, 
Assuaged  the  wo-worn  captive's  fears 
And,  heart-pleased  by  her  grateful  tears, 
He  bade  she  should  till  morning  rest. 
The  Shawnee  maidens'  cherished  guest, 
Then  with  a  band  of  warriors  move 
Unto  his  brother's  camp  above, 
Whence  more  secure  she  might  be  sent 
Back  to  the  white-man's  settlement, 
And  to  her  home  beloved,  if  home  she  had — 
Alas  !  that  home  were  desolate  and  sad  ! 


TECUMSEH 


CANTO  THIRD. 


WHERE  beats  the  Patriot's  heart  ?     Oh  !  not  alone 
Behind  the  corselet  and  the  blazoned  shield, 
Throbbing  at  once  for  freedom  and  renown, 
Soon  hushed  forever  on  the  gory  field. 
Nor  yet  where  Science  and  Religion  wield 
Sceptres  of  light  its  only  pulsings  press, 
With  touch  of  fire.     By  peasant's  garb  concealed, 
Or  'neath  the  savage  bosom's  wild-skin  dress, 
Barbarian  born,  full  oft  its  throbs  are  numberless. 

And  he,  th'  untutored  Indian,  whose  feet 
Once  roamed,  by  lake  and  stream,  this  broad,  fair  land, 
Hath  oft  within  him  felt  his  full  heart  beat. 
He  saw  strange  barks  their  eagle  wings  expand, 
He  hailed  the  strangers  with  an  outstretched  hand  : — 
Too  late,  alas  !  th'  illusion  left  his  eyes  ! 
Once  deemed  divine,  he  saw  them  now  demand 
His  ancient  heritage — too  dear  a  prize  ! — 
And  on  his  fathers'  graves  lie  saw  their  dwellings  rise. 


8  TECUMSEH. 

He  saw — but  wept  not.     In  his  burning  heart 
There  lived  a  deep  remembrance  of  the  wrong ; 
And  often  to  the  battle  would  he  start, 
And  bleed  and  die  those  cherished  graves  among. 
How  can  the  weak  hold  combat  with  the  strong  1 
The  white-man's  arms  th'  unequal  strife  have  won  ; 
Ere  many  years,  O  mightier  Child  of  Song, 
Thou  'It  ask,  with  mournful  voice,  the  setting  sun, 
Where  are  thy  children?" — "Lo!  like  mine,  their  race 
is  run  !" 


Tecumseh  stood  by  his  father's  grave, 
The  noon-tide's  deep,  ethereal  wave 
Rolled  tremulous  o'er  as  lone  a  spot, 
As  where  were  ever  the  dead  forgot, 
By  the  ancient  sweep  of  the  first-born  river, 
The  Father  of  Waters,  that  brings  his  tide 
From  a  thousand  springs  on  either  side, 
And  rolls  it  a  thousand  leagues  forever. — 
"  But  why,  old  man,  of  the  forest  green 
A  rover  that  much  hast  suffered  and  seen, 
Say,  why  was  the  chief,  once  mighty  in  war, 
Thus  laid  from  the  tombs  of  his  fathers  afar  7' 

n. 

"  Stranger — there  are  who  think  and  write 
The  Indian's  soul  untouched  with  light, 
And  that  to  him  belongs  the  guilt 
For  all  the  blood  his  hand  hath  spilt : 
But  surely,  if  their  feet  had  strayed, 

Like  mine,  his  friendly  homes  among, 
They  would  have  known,  God  never  made 
A  heart  all  darkness,  and — how  long 
The  savage  bore  aggressive  wrong. 
Old  Logan  was  the  white-man's  friend  ; 
But  injuries  forced  his  love  to  end. 


TECUMSEH. 

Of  children,  wife,  and  kindred  shorn, 
None  left  for  him  to  joy  or  mourn, 
He  rose  in  calm,  vindictive  ire 
Beside  his  nation's  council-fire, 
And  bade  them,  by  their  fathers  slain, 
No  more  in  voiceless  peace  remain, 
But  lift  the  brand  and  battle-cry 
For  vengeance,  if  not  victory. 

in. 

"  Rang  the  loud  war-whoop.     On  the  side 

Of  wild  Kenhawa,  where  his  tide 

Beats  back  Ohio's  massy  wave, 

A  thousand  warriors,  strong  and  brave — 

Of  many  tribes  the  chosen  pride — 

A  thousand  fearless  foes  defied. 

From  breaking  morn  till  gathering  night, 

An  Autumn  day,  was  urged  the  fight  : 

The  bloody  field  at  set  of  sun 

Virginia's  deadly  rifles  won  : 

By  dell  and  plain,  by  hill  and  shore, 

They  darkly  fell  to  rise  no  more. 

'Twas  there  the  Shawnee  chieftain  found 

His  last  sleep  on  the  gory  ground  ; 

And  near  the  wave  his  tomb  was  made, 

Leaf-strown,  within  the  silent  shade. 

IV. 

"  There  oft,  as  boyhood  sprung  to  youth, 
And  drank  their  souls  the  bitter  truth, 
Learned  even  upon  their  mother's  breast, 
That  ever  towards  the  darkening  West 
Their  race  was  fading  like  a  cloud, 
The  chieftain's  sons,  in  sadness  bowed, 
With  low  voice  as  the  passing  air, 

Would  talk  of  things  that  once  had  been — 
Where  once  the  Indian's  dwellings  were, 
6 


70 


TECUMSEH. 


How  changed  was  now  the  lovely  scene  ; 
And  o'er  the  yet  untrampled  grave 
They  vowed  to  stay  th'  encroaching  wave, 
And  by  the  voice,  and  by  the  hand, 
Reclaim,  restore,  their  native  land. 


"  Yet  ever  on  they  saw  it  haste 

And  leave,  unto  their  eyes,  a  waste, 

Howe'er  sweet  fields  might  smile  in  bloom, 

Where  brooded  once  the  forest's  gloom. 

Strange  vessels  vexed  the  clear,  blue  waters, 

The  wild-flowers  grew  for  pale-browed  daughters ; 

Nay,  from  their  homes,  no  warning  given, 

With  steel  and  flame  their  tribe  was  driven, 

And  rude  hands  felled  the  trees  that  rose 

Around  their  sire's  so  still  repose. 

Then  from  his  rest  the  mouldered  chief, 

In  silence  and  in  tearless  grief, 

Beyond  their  tribe's  new  home  they  bore 

To  Mississippi's  lonely  shore, 

And,  with  an  oath  returnless,  swore, 

The  stranger's  feet  should  ne'er  go  by 

That  sacred  grave,  that  rolling  flood, 
Till  all  the  red-man's  race  should  lie 

Past  sorrow  on  the  field  of  blood." 

VI. 

No  sculptured  marble  rose  in  pride 

To  tell  a  name,  which  else  had  died, 

Or  speak  of  virtues  seen  by  none, 

Till  on  the  cold  memorial-stone  ; 

But  reared  on  gently  rising  ground, 

With  time-worn,  massive  trees  around, 

Some  loose  heaped,  wordless  stones  were  seen, 

With  reverend  moss  grown  thick  and  green, 

To  mark  the  silent  resting-place 


TECTTMSEH.  71 

Of  him,  once  mightiest  of  his  race. 
And  through  the  leaves  of  varied  change 
There  fell  all  colors,  rich  and  strange, 
On  those  columnar  trunks  sublime, 

And  o'er  the  chieftain's  mossy  tomb, 
As  through  some  abbey  of  olden  time, 

Or  a  minster,  pillared  in  gothic  gloom, 
By  its  storied  windows,  religious  light 
Falls  ever  in  glorious  blendings  bright 
O'er  the  shadowy  walls,  and  the  monuments  cold 
Enshrining  below  the  mighty  of  old  ; 
And  aye  the  dim  aisles  and  the  ambient  air 
Were  hushed  to  the  holy  repose  of  prayer, 
Or  breathed,  like  the  organ's,  solemn  and  dread, 
The  wind's  low  requiem  o'er  the  dead. 
Oh  !  e'er  if  one  I  love  must  die, 
Be  such  the  haunt  of  Memory ; 
For  ever  he  wisheth,  who  loves  the  best, 
The  loved  in  the  loneliest  place  should  rest, 
That,  when  by  the  still  mound  weepeth  he, 
No  eye  but  God's  his  grief  may  see  !  " 


Tecumseh  stood  by  his  father's  grave. 

Whate'er  they  were,  deep  musings  gave 

To  his  stern  face  a  saddened  look  ; 

And  oft  his  bosom  heaved,  as  shook 

By  some  strong  grief;  till,  calmer  wrought, 

His  very  life  seemed  bound  in  thought, 

As  he  were  sculptured  thus,  with  mind 

To  one  eternal  wo  resigned  : 

And  all  unbidden  fell  fast  tears, 

As  if  the  streams,  restrained  for  years, 

Had  burst  their  fringed  barriers  o'er, 

As  pent  brooks  through  the  willowy  shore. 

If  any  eye  had  in  that  hour 

Of  feeling's  over-mastering  power 


72  TECUMSEH. 

Upon  him  looked,  he  had  not  shown 
Such  weakness — there  'twas  all  his  own. 


He  knelt  beside  the  mouldering  earth, 
From  which  had  sprung  his  living  birth  : 
"  O  Spirit  of  my  sire  !  if  e'er, 

Leaving  thy  blissful  dwelling-place, 
Leaving  the  dance  and  bounding  chase, 
Thy  once-loved  form  thou  comest  near — 
Oh  !  now  be  hope  and  counsel  won, 
Thou  spirit,  for  my  father's  son  ! 
How  changed  the  red-man's  good  estate, 
How  wronged  we  are,  how  desolate, 
Thou  knowst — and  lo  !  thy  dust  is  laid, 
Not  where  thy  fathers'  graves  were  made  ! 
How  wise,  how  brave,  how  good  thou  wert ! 
Be  such  my  tongue,  my  hand,  my  heart, 
That  I  by  speech  and  deeds  may  be 
Their  vengeance,  fame,  and  destiny. 
My  path  is  lonely.     Let  me  find 
Thy  voice  upon  the  sighing  wind  ! 
Oh  !  in  the  hour  of  dreams  appear, 
And  steel  my  soul  to  change  and  fear  !" 

IX. 

Arose  he  ;  charioted  on  high 

The  day-god  drew  his  thoughtful  eye. 

"  In  glorious  strength  thou  run'st  thy  race, 

O  Sun  !"  he  cried,  "and  to  thy  place 

Returnest  back,  the  same  for  aye  ! 

But  when  our  race  is  run,  our  day 

Shall  never  come  again.     Restore 

Thy  favor,  ere  we  be  no  more  ; 

But  may  pale  Winter's  children  base 

Be  snow  before  thy  burning  face  ! 

— But  Thou,  by  whom  all  things  have  being, 


TECTJMSEH.  73 

Earth,  Sun,  and  skies — unseen,  all-seeing ! — 

To  Thee  I  pray.     Is  it  that  we, 

Great  Spirit,  have  offended  thee, 

Few  offerings  on  thine  altars  laying, 

Agains,  each  other  ceaseless  preying  f 

Then  let  thy  just  and  terrible  wrath 

Send  fire,  flood,  plague,  along  our  path, 

And  sweep  us  from  thine  angry  eye  : 

But  thus  to  wander  hopelessly, 

All  unavenged,  the  stranger's  scorn — 

Ah  !  grant  that  this  no  more  be  borne  ! 

Let  not  the  feet  that  know  no  rest 

Rove  to  our  Islands  of  the  Blest ! 

Thou  knowst  I  go.     My  soul  inspire, 

And  on  my  lips  put  living  fire  ; 

That  vvheresoe'er  our  fading  race 

Have  made  themselves  a  dwelling-place, 

My  wo-ds  may  bind  th'  avenging  chain, 

Till,  all  as  one,  in  blood-blent  rain 

They  wash  the  wrongs,  by  which  no  more 

Are  we  as  were  our  sires  of  yore  !" 

x. 

Then  from  that  forest  tomb  he  passed, 
Nor  once  a  look  behind  him  cast ; 
Stemmed  with  strong  arm  the  swelling  tide, 
Plunged  through  the  tangled  forests  wide, 
Where  scarce  a  beam  of  lightsome  day 
Across  his  trackless  course  might  stray, 
And  sought  undaunted,  lone  and  far, 
The  dwellings  of  the  Western  Star. 

O  wildly-wandering  stream  !  great  birth 
Art  thou,  Missouri,  of  the  Earth, 
That  roamest  in  thy  sullen  mood, 
With  wailing  surge  and  tireless  flood, 
Through  forest  gloom  and  day-light  glare, 
Through  wilds,  or  Hesperus'  gardens  fair, 
6* 


74  TECTTMSEH. 

Farther  than  any  else  is  borne 

Since  Time  first  rolled  the  circling  year, 
A  seventh  of  all,  from  morn  to  morn, 

That  rounds  the  old  diurnal  sphere, 
Ay,  haste,  returnless  tide  !—  thy  grave 
Is  ready  for  thee  in  the  ocean  wave  ! 

XI. 

And  all  along  Missouri's  shores, 
Till  Konzas  his  dark  tribute  pours, 
And  farther  yet,  where  Platte  still  brings 
Wide  offerings  from  his  thousand  springs, 
And — countless  reared  from  varied  base, 
Memorials  of  a  vanished  race — 
Old  mounds  arise,  dwelt,  fiery-souled, 
Brave  tribes,  as  Nature  uncontrolled. 
Twas  theirs  to  go  and  come  at  will, 
Chance  fruits  to  eat  and  drink  the  rill, 
To  chase  the  game  through  pathless  wood 
Or  track  the  flying  feet  of  blood, 
To  shift,  so  slight  their  rude  abodes, 
From  place  to  place  their  household  gods, 
To  live  and  die  in  tameless  pride, 
Ev'n  as  their  fathers  lived  and  died  : 
For  they  not  yet,  so  far  removed, 
The  stranger's  fatal  gifts  had  proved, 
That,  from  his  nobler  nature  weaned, 
But  make  the  savage  all  a  fiend. 

XII. 

Tecumseh  in  their  midst  appeared 

And  by  their  counsel-fires  was  heard. 

Siones,  of  fierce,  forbidding  gaze, 

Saucs,  Foxes,  restless  I-o-ways, 

O-toes  and  roving  O-ma-has, 

And  Weas,  and  wild  Peorias, 

Were  thrilled  through  utmost  soul  and  sense, 

As,  with  a  mournful  eloquence, 


TECUMSEH.  75 

He  told  of  mighty  tribes  that  reared 
Their  wigwams  once  by  eastern  waves, 

But  now,  where  they  had  disappeared, 
Remained  but  violated  graves — 

Then,  with  the  voice  of  clarion,  bade 

Themselves  in  battle  be  arrayed  ; 

For  better,  crushed  by  trampling  Fate, 

Than  exiled,  scorned  and  desolate. 

He  passed — but  still  their  souls  were  stirred, 

As  hearing  still  each  earnest  word, 

And  armed  its  might  each  warrior  hand, 

To  strive  for  their  beloved  land. 

XIII. 

No  rest  was  his.     With  tireless  pace 
Towards  the  far  south  he  turned  his  face, 
To  pass  by  woods  and  prairies  wild, 
With  their  own  solitude  beguiled  ; 
By  plains,  where,  since  the  birth  of  things, 
Gray  Time  hath  waved  his  weary  wings 
Through  silence  vast ;  by  lonely  streams 
More  mighty  than  of  old  the  themes 
Of  mightiest  bards — Euphrates,  held 
Most  ancient  of  the  floods  of  Eld, 
By  primal  Eden — Nilus  hoar, 
Far  honored  with  his  mystic  lore — 
Hydaspes  of  the  fabled  shore — 
Indus,  that  barred  the  conquering  bands, 
Or  Ganges  of  the  golden  sands. 
No  compass  with  its  quivering  ray 
Was  guide  upon  his  pathless  way ; 
But  journeying  sun,  and  moving  stars, 
Seen  glimmering  through  the  forest  spars* 
Or  green  and  gray  moss,  ages  grown 
On  rock  or  tree  or  boulder-stone, 
Declared  his  course,  by  day  and  night, 
Directer  than  the  arrow's  flight. 


76  TECUMSEH. 


XIV. 

And  ever,  as  he  onward  pressed, 

What  were  the  thoughts  within  his  breast  1 

Oh  !  not  of  festive  offerings,  burned 

For  royal  exile  back  returned — 

Not  of  triumphal  arches,  reared 

For  crimsoned  conqueror  hailed  and  feared — 

Not  of  rejoicing  garlands,  strown 

Round  feet  that  mount  th'  unlineal  throne 

With  steps  of  blood — Oh  !  not  renown, 

Made  great  by  nations  trodden  down, 

While  Valor's  hand  forgets  to  save, 

And  Virtue  weeps  o'er  Freedom's  grave  ! 

But  as,  by  day,  with  equal  haste, 

Forest  and  solitary  waste 

He  traversed  o'er,  and  by  the  sweep 

Of  eldest  rivers,  calm  and  deep 

And  wider  grew  his  soul  within, 

With  vastness  of  each  silent  scene  : 

And  when  beneath  the  solemn  shade 

Of  night  and  starry  skies,  that  made 

The  solitude  more  lone,  his  way 

He  urged  untired,  or  listening  lay 

In  wakeful  rest,  the  moaning  flood, 

The  winds,  that  stirred  the  mighty  wood, 

Were  voices  from  the  Spirit-shore, 

That  he  their  once-loved  homes  restore  ; 

And,  where  were  bent — above — around — 

O'er  plains  without  a  visible  bound, 

The  eternal  heavens,  his  thoughts  would  stray 

To  their  bright  worlds — away — away — 

And  drank  a  spirit  more  divine, 

And  grandeur,  to  his  great  design 

From  their  far  presence.     On  his  soul, 

Successive,  glorious  visions  roll — 

The  red-men  leagued,  the  strife  begun, 


TECUMSEH.  77 

In  terror  towards  the  rising  sun 

Th'  invader  driven,  the  beams  at  last 

Of  peace  upon  his  country  cast, 

And  he  proclaimed  by  reverent  Fame 

The  one— the  great— th'  undying  name, 

While  future  distant  tribes  should  come 

To  look  upon  Tecumseh's  tomb. 
Be  these  forbid,  he  cannot  fail  of  all — 
Still  his  are  vengeance  and  a  hero's  fall ; 
And  thus  to  die  he  rudely  deems  to  be 
Praise  on  th'  Immortal  Shores,  immortally  ! 

xv. 

So  crossed  he  nameless  streams,  that  bear 

Their  breasts  through  scenery  stern  or  fair, 

To  meet  Missouri's  deep  embrace. 

The  wandering  Kick-a-poe-an  race, 

The  Shew-an-nas  by  Konzas'  tide, 

The  Osages,  that  dwell  beside 

Arkansas'  mountain-fostered  pride, 

Q,ua-paws,  of  spirit  fierce  and  wild, 

As  ever  fired  the  Desert's  child — 

To  these  he  told  the  same  sad  story 

Of  present  woes — of  ancient  glory. 

They  heard  :  strange  thoughts  their  souls  possessed, 

A  fire  was  kindled  in  each  breast, 

And  often  in  their  troubled  rest 

Dark  dreams  of  vengeance  came : 
They  heard  the  yell  and  battle-cry, 
Saw  knives  and  hatchets  gleaming  high, 
And  maidens  pale  and  women  fly 

From  dwellings  wrapt  in  flame  ; 
And  in  the  chase  they  wandered  o'er 
The  grounds  their  kindred  roamed  of  yore. 


78  TECUMSEH. 


Through  hoary  woods  and  solemn  wastes, 
Hoarse-dashing,  aye  unwearied  hastes 
The  great  Arkansas — gloomy  river, 
Borne  on  in  wildered  dream  forever  ! 
Along  its  course  Tecumseh  passed. 
Whether  he  toils  through  lowlands,  massed 
With  vegetation  rank  and  vast, 
Whereof  th'  enormous  trees  are  wound, 
O'er  trunk  and  limb,  around  and  round, 
With  monstrous  vines,  whose  serpent-folds 
Strangle  their  giant  life  ;  or  holds 
A  rapid  course,  with  freer  feet, 
Where  elk  and  wild-deer  bounded  fleet, 
O'er  open  plains  ;  or  ruined  steep 
Ascending,  sees  the  landscape  sleep, 
Stream,  prairie,  hill  and  forest  deep, 
In  beauty  of  a  thousand  lights  ; 
Or  from  the  loftier  azure  heights 
Of  Ozark's  mountain-range,  surveys 
The  whole  strange  world  beneath  his  gaze — 
Still  on  his  silent  way  he  pressed, 
With  thoughts,  as  steps,  that  would  not  rest. 

XVII. 

Again  with  dauntless  stroke  he  clave 

The  Mississippi's  turbid  wave. 

There,  first,  where  Yazoo's  waters  rise, 

And  Tennessee's  green  valley  lies. 

And  Cumberlands'  dark  hills  appear, 

Did  Chick-a-saws  their  wigwams  rear  ; 

And  next  them,  on  the  south  away, 

The  Choctaws'  ancient  nation  lay  ; 

While,  east,  where  breathe  the  sea-born  gales 

O'er  Alabama's  lucid  fountains, 
And  blue  skies  canopy  the  vales 


TECUMSEH.  79 

Of  Alleghanian  crested  mountains, 
The  Cherokees'  more  gentle  race 
Had  made  their  hearts  a  dwelling  place  ; 
And  far  below  them  were  the  graves 
Of  Creeks  by  Chat-ta-hoo-chee's  waves. 
These  were  their  homes — but  now  no  more  ! 
Their  day  of  power  and  pride  is  o'er  : 
They  urge  the  chase,  where  other  skies 
Are  spread,  and  other  hills  arise  ; 
And  only  may  in  memory  mourn 
The  scenes  to  which  they  ne'er  return. 
They  rest,  as  witheringly  they  die, 
Not  where  their  kindred's  ashes  lie  ! 
To  these  with  hand,  and  eye,  and  tongue, 
The  chief  spoke  earnestly  and  long — 
In  tones,  now  low  and  sorrowful, 
Now  Ocean's  voice  that  awes  the  soul — 
Till  calmly  they  no  longer  heard, 
But  rose,  like  waves  by  tempest  stirred, 
And  swore  to  him,  their  strife  and  hate 
Should  yield  to  change,  nor  time,  nor  Fate. 
And  well  'twas  seen  their  hearts  had  not 
His  burning  words,  their  vows,  forgot, 
In  after  years,  by  midnight  cries, 
By  blazing  roofs  and  lighted  skies, 
By  children  slain  and  mothers  shrieking, 
And  warm  blood  on  the  hatchet  reeking 

XVIII. 

Great  gulf !  thy  mighty  waters  be 
A  marvel  and  a  mystery 
From  eldest  time  ;  whose  billows,  tost 
A  thousand  miles  from  coast  to  coast, 
Forth  from  thy  bosom,  send  a  tide, 
A  thousand  leagues  the  waves  to  ride, 
Unbroken  by  the  huge  commotion 
Of  warring  winds  and  rolling  Ocean  ! 


80  TECUMSEH. 

There  roved  the  Seminoles  in  hordes, 

As  tempests  free,  the  tameless  lords 

Of  wilderness  and  green  morass, 

Where  no  pursuer's  foot  may  pass. 

Wilds  barred  his  way,  and  torrents  roared  ; 

Yet  in  their  ears  Tecumseh  poured 

Th'  unwritten  wrongs  of  many  years, 

And  coming  ills,  and  hopes,  and  fears. 

The  chief  departed  as  he  came  ; 

But,  thrilling  still  each  savage  frame, 

The  tones  that  urged  the  glowing  theme 

Remained,  like  voices  of  a  dream  ; 

Nor  would  the  scenes  he  painted  pass, 

As  visions  of  the  wizard's  glass 

Will  linger  still  before  the  eye, 

Shadows  of  musing  Memory. 

Though  then  the  fiery  oath  went  round, 

The  fruits  in  later  days  are  found, 

In  Os-ce-o-la's  liquid  name, 

Enrolled  on  mournful  lists  of  fame 

By  struggles  long  and  treacherous  death, 

Whose  soul  brooked  not  the  dungeon's  breath  ; 

And  in  that  fierce  strife,  yet  unended, 

Among  their  wild  haunts  thus  defended. 

XIX. 

Then  towards  the  distant  West  again 
He  bent  his  steps  by  wood  and  plain, 
Where,  from  the  far  high  mountains  borne, 
As  seeking  her  lost  home,  forlorn 
The  Ruby  Flood  through  desert  shores 
Her  joyless,  weltering  course  explores. 
The  wild  Ca-man-ches  there  bestride 
Wild  steeds,  and  to  the  battle  ride 

Without  or  bit  or  spur  ; 
And  there  the  Ki-o-ways,  that  make 
The  path  of  war  for  slaughter's  sake, 


TECUMSEH.  SI 

The  swift  revenge  incur. 
To  them  in  warning  strains  he  told 
Of  other  tribes,  as  strong  and  bold, 
Beneath  the  rising  sun  of  old, 

That  now  no  longer  were  : 
His  words  through  all  their  bosoms  melt, 

Their  savage  souls  are  saddened,  fired, 
And  grasp  their  hands  the  bloody  belt, 

As  A-re-ous-ki's  self  inspired. 

xx. 

Now  high  through  Aries'  golden  sign, 
Towards  the  bright  Bull,  with  face  divine, 
Rolled  the  fair  sun  ;  and  northern  spring 
Might  greet  the  chieftain's  wandering. 
Then  coasted  he  those  herbless  plains, 
That  bloom  not  to  the  vernal  rains, 

Nor  smiling  skies,  nor  genial  air — 
Bounded  by  lofty  mountain-chains, 

The  desolate  and  bare. 
He  roused  among  their  savage  dens 
The  desert-haunting,  fleet  Chayennes, 
He  kindled  with  the  electric  cause 
Ventrese,  and  brave  Missourias, 
And  Konzas,  where  they  darkly  bide 
Their  own  beloved  stream  beside  ; 
Then  on,  where  Platte  in  grandeur  roams, 
He  sought  the  Pawnees'  shifting  homes. 
Fast  mounted  on  their  tameless  steeds, 
Such  as  the  native  desert  breeds, 
With  fearless  souls  and  lawless  hands 
As  rovers  of  Zahara's  sands, 
And  ranging  wide  the  prairie  plains 
For  flying  game  or  predal  gains, 
Obeying  each  his  heart's  behest — 
These  were  the  Arabs  of  the  West : 
7 


82  TECUMSEH. 

And  these  he  bade — so  fierce  their  mood — 
"  Haste,  hasten  to  the  feast  of  blood  !" 

XXI. 

Thence  on  he  pressed,  till  saw  his  eyes 
The  Black  Hills'  sable  heads  arise, 

With  glittering  caps  of  snow, 
And  frowning  battlements  and  towers, 
Like  those  of  ancient  feudal  powers, 
That  mocked  war  and  the  wasting  hours, 

When  blow  was  given  for  blow. 
No  Indian  by  their  base  that  strays, 
Could  e'er  on  them  a  moment  gaze, 
Except  with  awe  and  silent  fear  ; 
For  the  rebounding  echoes  loud, 
That  break  from  out  their  shadowy  shroud, 
Seem  spirit-voices  to  their  ear  ; 
And  there  the  Genii  of  the  storms 
Enrobe  in  clouds  their  giant  forms. 
And  far  beyond  them  might  be  seen, 

Through  the  pure  air  of  those  bright  skies, 
The  Chip-pe-wy-an  mountains  rise, 
Unto  the  Indian's  mind  the  screen 
Of  realms  beyond,  mysterious,  strange, 
Wherein  the  blessed  spirits  range 
Their  glorious  clime — the  vast  "  world's  crest' 
Wa-kon-dah's  awful  place  of  rest. 
Well  may  he  deem  them  such  to  be, 
For  there  they  stand  eternally, 
O'ergazing  earth,  and  calmly  rnock 
The  hand  of  Time,  the  tempest's  shock, 
And  with  a  granite  chain  of  rock 
Bind  half  the  world — from  pole  to  pole 
Stretched  in  their  stern  and  silent  pride, 
While,  baffled,  hoarse  on  either  side 
Two  mighty  oceans  roll. 


TECUMSEH.  83 

XXII. 

There,  first,  th'  Ar-rep-a-has  were  found 
Upon  the  desert's  utmost  bound  ; 
Above,  the  simple  cabins  rose 

Of  Poncas  on  the  Running  Water, 
Arid  Staetons  where  its  fountain  flows, 

And  O-gal-lal-lahs,  red  with  slaughter  ; 
Still  further  up,  the  Shennes  behold 

At  sunset  o'er  their  streams  and  rills, 
And  round  their  quiet  wigwams  rolled, 
Blent  with  purpureal  hues  of  gold, 

The  shadows  of  the  ancient  hills  ; 
And  higher  yet,  between  their  chain 
And  broad  Missouri's  old  domain, 
A-rick-a-ras  and  Mandans  reared 
Their  dwellings,  far  and  widely  feared  ; 
While,  last,  beyond  the  Sable  Heights, 
Where,  fleckered  with  the  northern  lights, 
Missouri's  gelid  tributes  run, 
Min-net-rees  hail  the  cheerful  sun. 
To  each  and  all  the  wanderer  spoke 
Words,  tones,  that  in  their  souls  awoke 
Sorrow,  and  joy,  and  memory, 
And  thoughts  of  glorious  things  to  be  ; 
Till  round  their  council-fires  they  swore 
Each  other's  homes  to  waste  no  more, 
But  whelm  in  death  the  Sons  of  Fear 

Like  whirlwind  and  the  storm, 
Or  by  his  broken  bow  and  spear 

Lie  low  each  warrior  form. 


From  these,  unresting  still,  he  passed, 
To  seek  along  the  lowan  waste 
The  various  predatory  clans 
Of  Sioux,  and  ruthless  I-o-tans  ; 


84  TECUMSEH. 

Paused  with  a  gladdened  ear  and  eye, 
Yet  darkened  heart,  he  knew  not  why, 
To  see  the  young  leaves,  soft  and  fair, 
Come  forth  to  sunlight  and  the  air, 
To  hear  the  birds  their  warbling  make, 
By  lone  Itaska's  lovely  lake, 
Whence,  bosomed  in  the  woody  earth, 
The  Father  of  Waters  hath  his  birth  ; 
Then  hasted,  for  the  coming  hour 
To  win  that  old  and  fearless  power, 
The  Chip-pe-was,  revered  and  wise, 
That  dwell,  where  vast  Superior  lies, 
Reflecting  to  the  heavens  above 
Their  own  eternity  of  love  : 
On  these,  as  all,  the  wizard's  spell 
Of  eloquence  resistless  fell. 

XXIV. 

Tecumseh  trode  along  the  shore, 
And  heard  the  all-pervading  roar 
Go  up  to  heaven,  while  sun-set  skies 
Shed  o'er  the  wave  their  magic  dies. 
Then  fell  gray  shadows  ;  one  by  one, 
With  calm  and  sleepless  eyes  looked  down 
Th'  angelic  stars  :  his  soul  was  bright, 
But  sad,  with  their  immortal  light. 
At  last,  with  weariness  oppressed, 
And  thought,  he  laid  him  down  to  rest 
Beside  the  billows  :  slumber  stole 
With  visions  to  his  troubled  soul. 
The  sounds  of  dashing  waters  near 
Confusedly  mingled  in  his  ear, 
He  seemed,  at  first,  in  frailest  bark 
Borne  over  billows,  wild  and  dark, 
Far  towards  some  high  and  rocky  coast, 
Whereon  eternal  surge  was  tost. 
Then  changed  the  dream.     He  was  a  boy 


TECUMSEH.  85 

Once  more,  of  childish  grief  and  joy, 

Beside  Scioto's  pleasant  stream  : 

He  saw  his  mother's  soft  eyes  beam 

Upon  him,  while  her  gentle  tongue 

Was  earnest  with  the  red-man's  wrong. 

The  dream  was  changed.     Around  him  spread 

A  field  of  blood,  with  countless  dead, 

Pale-face  and  Indian,  crushed  and  rent, 

In  undistinguished  carnage  blent ; 

And  there  his  dusky  braves  were  flying, 

And  he,  their  chief,  in  death  was  lying. 

These  vanished.     In  the  Spirit-boat 

O'er  waters  blue  he  seemed  to  float, 

Towards  isles — how  glorious  to  the  sight, 

Bathed  in  so  soft  and  strange  a  light ! — 

Along  whose  shores  of  shadowy  green 

All  fair  and  lovely  things  were  seen, 

Maids,  fruits  and  flowers,  and  varied  game  ; 

Ev'n  to  the  glittering  strand  he  came, 

Where  waited  him  the  loved,  the  brave, 

When — lo  !  they  faded  : — calm  and  grave, 

In  loneliest  depths  of  solemn  wood 

His  chieftain-sire  beside  him  stood. 

xxv. 

'Twas  not  the  warrior  form  of  old 
With  fiery  eye  and  features  bold, 
But  shrunk  and  of  a  mournful  cast, 
As  who  through  pain  and  death  had  passed. 
' "  Tecumseh  is  the  Shawnee's  son" 
All  hollowly  a  voice  begun  i 
"  His  part  full  nobly  hath  he  done. 
Go  boldly  on  :  the  war-bands  lead. 
Go — like  your  fathers,  fight  and  bleed : 
Shades  of  the  red-men  bid  ye  speed. 
Be  nerved  each  hand,  each  heart  prepared^ 
Spare  not  who  ne'er  the  Indian  spared. 
7* 


86  TECUMSEH. 

The  strife  will  soon  be  o'er — and  thou 

Must  be,  as  is  thy  father  now. 

But  thee  the  Blessed  Isles  await. 

And  Time  shall  make  thy  memory  great." — 

"  But,  tell  me,  by  the  spirits  blest ! 

My  father,  where  shall  victory  rest  1" 

The  figure  waved  its  sad  adieu, 

And  vanished  from  Tecumseh's  view. 

He  woke — he  gazed  on  every  side, 

If  yet  the  form  might  be  descried. 

The  waves  dashed  high — the  stars  still  shone 

No  streaks  proclaimed  the  coming  sun — 

But  sleep  for  him  was  not.     In  haste 

He  rose — his  robe  around  him  cast — 

And  sought  the  tribes,  that  loved  the  gleam 

Of  white  St.  Mary's  foamy  stream, 

Or  dwelt  blue  Huron's  deep  beside, 

Or  Michigan's  mysterious  tide  : — 

But  evermore  was  doubt  the  guest 

Of  his  desponding,  hoping  breast. 

XXVI. 

Such  league  Tecumseh  strove  to  bind, 
A  wanderer  with  the  wave  and  wind  : 
Return  we  now  to  Autumn  pale, 
And  thence  resume  the  storied  tale. — 
Back,  from  the  mound's  gray  monument 
Of  years  unknown,  the  Prophet  went 
To  Wabash  banks  above,  whereon 
By  wonder,  spoils  or  vengeance,  won, 
From  varied  tribes  a  gathered  crowd 
Were  to  his  wily  visions  bowed. 
Mighty  the  seer  :  chill,  silent  fear 
Fell  like  a  shadow  far  and  near 
From  his  dark  presence,  and  his  word 
In  pale  obedience  was  heard. 
But  he,  who  e'er  the  crowd  hath  ruled, 


TECUMSEH. 

Hath  learned  by  sad  experience  schooled, 
The  voice  may  wake  the  tempest's  hour, 
That  o'er  its  fury  hath  no  power. 
By  his  own  fiendish  orgies  fired, 
By  his  prophetic  words  inspired, 
He  found  his  motley  followers  wrought 
To  phrenzy  past  the  sway  of  thought, 
From  hut  to  hut,  with  clang  and  tramp, 
Arming  their  rage  through  all  the  camp, 
In  ambushed  strife  to  slay  a  band 
Of  friendly  troops,  now  near  at  hand. 
From  such  a  course,  full  well  he  knew, 
Might  ruin  to  the  cause  ensue. 
Resolved  their  rash  attempts  to  stay, 
And  thus  Tecumseh's  words  obey, 
He  bade  them  at  the  hour  of  night 
The  wakeful  fire  of  council  light. 

XXVII. 

Without  their  camp  aspired  the  blaze  : 
Tall  trees  stood  round,  that  seemed  to  raise 
Their  forms  as  giant  guardians,  set 
For  them  in  secret  council  met ; 
In  groups  the  Indians  sat  beneath, 
Conversing  low,  with  hurried  breath 
And  gestures  wild,  while  redly  glared 
O'er  features  fierce  and  bosoms  bared, 
And  on  the  hoar  trunks  rising  high^ 
And  fitful  o'er  the  clouded  sky, 
The  writhing  flames,  that  rose  in  air 
As  they  would  drink  the  darkness  there  : 
And  ever  swept,  aloft  or  near, 
A  thousand  shadowy  shapes  of  fear, 
Such  forms  as  seem  to  Phrenzy's  braia 
Sent  from  the  abodes  of  sleepless  pain. 
With  stealthy  step  and  piercing  gaze, 
That  bore  a  soul  upon  its  rays, 


87 


TECUMSEH. 

And  robed  in  mystic,  strange  attire, 

The  Prophet  sat  him  near  the  fire, 

And  on  the  red  light  bent  his  eyes, 

As  reading  there  deep  destinies. 

Each  whisper  hushed,  no  sound  was  heard, 

But  crackling  flames,  and  tree  tops  stirred 

By  the  strong  wind  ;  and  none  could  brook 

Upon  the  seer  of  Fate  to  look — 

Save  him  who  feared  nor  man  nor  Fate, 

Ken-hat-ta-wa,  the  child  of  Hate 

And  fiery  Scorn  ;  and  with  him  one, 

A  chieftain  of  the  Hurons  known, 

Oneirah,  to  the  seer  a  name 

Of  odious  sound,  who  scorned  his  claim 

To  be  Manitto's  voice,  or  see 

The  things  of  shut  futurity. 

XXVIII. 

His  wild  skin  mantle  round  him  flung, 
He  rose  at  last  with  artful  tongue, 
And  thus  dissuasive  words  began  : 
"  Who  the  Great  Spirit's  power  may  scan  ? 
His  awful  form  the  tempest  shrouds — 
His  voice  resounds  among  the  clouds — 
He  rides  the  blast — He  walks  the  deep — 
He  robes  him  on  the  mountains  steep — 
Darkness  is  his — from  age  to  age 
The  wide  heavens  are  his  heritage. 
Brothers,  receive  his  words  to  mind  : 
His  prophet  heard  them  in  the  wind. 
The  pale-face  comes  :  but  ye  must  now 
Nor  raise  the  whoop  nor  bend  the  bow. 
No,  warriors — let  them  sleep,  and  yet 
Dream  that  the  red  men's  hearts  forget ! 
We  must  be  strong — they  then  shall  feel 
The  torturing  brand,  the  rending  steel. 
Tecumseh — "  up  the  Ottowa  sprung, 


TECUMSEH.  89 

The  hard  earth  with  his  war-club  rung, 
The  high  flames  flushed  his  swarthy  frowns  : 
"  Who  here  such  craven  counsel  owns  1 
Ho  !  warriors,  hear  your  sapient  seer  ! 
Once  hath  he  told  you  nought  to  fear, 
For  that  the  great  Manitto's  arm 
Would  shield  the  Indian's  life  from  harm  ? 
And  bids  he  now,  keep  still,  be  wise, 
When  foes  insult  our  very  eyes  1 
We  will  not !     Let  the  war  begin — 
Tribes  from  afar  will  hasten  in. 
Who  follows  Hate,  Revenge  and  me, 
To-morrow's  night  his  deeds  shall  see  I" 

xxix. 

Burst  forth  around  from  group  to  group, 

As  ended  he,  a  smothered  whoop. 

The  Prophet  heard— he  knew  that  hour 

The  crisis  of  his  crafty  power  ; 

And  near  he  saw  Oneirah's  eye 

Gleaming  with  scorn  triumphantly. 

Then  flamed  his  soul :  yet  ne'er  he  dared 

The  Ottowas'  powerful  chieftain  beard — 

But  for  the  Huron — Slow  his  hand 

He  waved,  with  conscious,  calm  command, 

Then  with  a  soft,  low  accent  spoke  : 

"  The  Prophet's  word  is  never  broke. 

No,  warriors — ye  might  falter  not 

For  steed,  or  sword,  or  shivering  shot, 

But  that," — his  voice  still  lower  fell, 

And  glanced  his  eye  its  withering  spell — 

"  But  that  the  death-defeating  charm 

A  sorcerer's  power  doth  here  disarm  !" 

"  Who  1  who  1"  the  breathless  throng  exclaimed, 

Each  fearing  lest  himself  be  named. 

The  Prophet  eyed  Oneirah  nigh  : 

"  What  dost  thou  here,  thou  wizard  spy  T' 


90  TECUMSEH. 

"And  who,"  he  answered,  "hinders  me 
From  being  where  I  choose  to  be  ? 
Thou  lying  seer  !  when  hast  thou  learnt 
Thy  witches  have  not  all  been  burnt  ?" 
"  But  thou  of  late"  the  Prophet  cried, 
"  The  white  man's  cursed  arts  hast  plied  ; 
And  now  thou  com'st  with  witcheries  fraught, 
That  all  our  plans  may  come  to  naught. — 
Ho  !  let  the  spy,  the  wizard,  burn  ! 
So  shall  the  powerful  charm  return  !" 

xxx. 

To  execute  the  mandate  fell, 

A  hundred  sprung  with  sudden  yell. 

The  foremost  came — with  lightning  start, 

Oneirah's  knife  was  in  his  heart — 

A  second — third — by  hatchet,  crashed, 

Through  skull  and  brain,  to  earth  was  dashed- 

A  fourth  th'  uplifted  arm  had  sent 

To  shades  of  death,  but,  backward  bent 

By  numbers  to  the  bloody  ground, 

The  Huron's  hands  were  strongly  bound. 

Within  the  fire  a  stake  was  driven, 

The  chief,  who  had  so  vainly  striven, 

Was  chained  thereto — fresh  fuel  piled — 

And  soon  the  flames  rose  wreathing  wild, 

Spreading  the  dark  with  fiercer  glare, 

As  at  the  gusts  their  volumes  flare. 

xxxi. 

The  circling  fire  his  body  wreathed, 
And  in  his  face  all  hotly  breathed, 
And  on  each  rnanly  sinew  fed, 
And  streamed  in  spires  above  his  head ; 
Yet  never  once  a  muscle  stirred, 
Nor  ever  cry  or  groan  was  heard, 
But  proudly  gazed  he  round,  and  sung 


TECUMSEH.  91 

His  death-song  with  unfaltering  tongue, 

Telling  the  deeds  a  warrior's  son 

Had  in  the  rolling  battle  done, 

And  naming  those  among  the  train, 

Whose  kindred  by  his  hand  were  slain, 

And  bidding  them,  with  taunts,  draw  nigh 

And  see  a  Huron  chieftain  die. 

All  fiercely  crowd  around,  and  strive, 

Who  best  shall  torture  him  alive — 

Except,  Ken-hat-ta-wa  with  his  band 

Disdainfully  at  distance  stand  ; 

But  in  the  shadow  of  a  tree 

A  boyish  youth  stood  silently, 

In  whose  soft  face,  yet  dauntless  mien, 

Oneirah's  lineaments  were  seen. 

Some  tears  were  in  his  flashing  eyes, 

That  viewed  the  cruel  sacrifice, 

But  on  his  quivering  lip  there  lay 

Resolve  against  a  coming  day  ; 

And  as  the  eyes  of  son  and  sire 

Met  darkly  through  the  lurid  fire, 

The  meaning  glance  through  all  his  breast 

Kindled  a  flame  might  know  no  rest. 

XXXII. 

Nor  was  the  seer  with  this  content ; 

But  lest  their  fiery  faith  relent, 

He  flung  strong  earths  upon  the  pyre, 

Wherewith  the  mad  flames  mounted  higher, 

Writhing,  reaching,  crackling,  turning, 

With  all  fearful  colors  burning. 

"  See  !"  he  cried,  "  the  awful  sign 

Of  his  deadly  arts  malign  ! 

Haste  ye  now,  around,  around — 

Soon  our  charm  shall  be  unbound  !" 

"  Wolf !  thou  liest !"  Oneirah  cried  ; 

"  Cowards,  slaves,  ye  are  defied  !" 


92  TECUMSEH. 

The  strange  lights  flashed  athwart  the  sky, 
The  tree-tops  battling  clashed  on  high, 
Winds  swept  along  with  wail  and  groan, 
Grim  clouds  beset  the  struggling  moon, 
And  round  the  blazing  chief  the  throng, 
With  stoop  and  whirling,  danced  and  swung 
While,  as  the  dizzy  circle  ran, 
Such  fiendish  chant  the  seer  began, 
Whose  choral  notes  his  followers  sang, 
With  yellings,  till  the  wild  woods  rang. 

XXXIII. 

CHANT. 

Prophet. 

"  Spirit  of  Fire  !  ascend,  ascend  ; 
Let  the  wicked  wizard  end  ! 
Creep  through  every  secret  part, 
Feed  upon  his  traitor  heart, 
In  his  mouth,  and  through  his  lungs, 
Dart  around  thy  serpent  tongues, 
Round  each  limb  the  sinews  burn, 
Let  each  bone  to  cinders  turn, 
Search  his  body,  through  and  through, 
On  the  wind  his  ashes  strew  : — 
Nothing  evil  can  abide  thee, 
Nought  remains,  that  e'er  defied  thee  !" 

All 

"  Heh  !  heh-heh  ! — he  burns  !  he  burns  ! — 

Spirit  of  Fire  !  ascend,  ascend  ; 

Let  the  wicked  wizard  end  ! 

Haste  we  all  around,  around — 

Soon  our  charm  shall  be  unbound." — 

"  Cravens — see  a  warrior  die  !" 

Rose  the  Huron's  latest  cry. 


TECUMSEH.  93 


Prophet. 

"  Spirit  of  111,  that  mak'st  thy  haunt 
In  this  wretch — a  vaunt !  avaunt ! 
See — the  Spirit  from  him  flies 
In  the  colored  flames  that  rise  ! 
Charms  of  his  accursed  art 
Do  those  lurid  hues  impart : 
Bitter  roots  that  coldly  grow 
In  the  sunless  marshes  low, 
Fiery  herbs  of  sultry  clime, 
Vines  besmeared  with  lizard's  slime, 
Charming  serpents'  rattling  scales, 
Eyes  of  owl  and  mad  dog's  nails, 
Venom  of  the  gilded  snake, 
Hatched  within  the  poisonous  brake, 
Fog-fed  toad-stools,  rankly  bred 
When  the  cheerful  sun  was  dead, 
Viper's  eggs  and  adder's  brood, 
Wild  gourds  steeped  in  infant's  blood, 
Medicines  of  hidden  worth, 
Dug  from  out  the  secret  earth — 
These  made  up  the  powerful  charm 
All  our  great  designs  to  harm." 

AIL 

"Heh  !  heh-heh!  he  burns  !  he  burns  !- 
Spirit  of  Fire  !   ascend,  ascend  ; 
Let  the  wicked  wizard  end  ! 
Haste  we  all,  around,  around — 
Soon  our  charm  shall  be  unbound." 

Prophet. 

"  Now  the  wizard  spy  hath  died, 
Searched  throughout  and  purified. 
Lo  !  the  glittering  frame-work  stands, 
With  its  white  and  bony  hands, 
8 


94  TECUMSEH. 

Ribs  of  all  their  covering  reft, 
Yet  in  ghastly  order  left, 
Fleshless  feet,  that  shall  no  more 
Tread  the  plains  or  Huron's  shore  , 
Not  a  nerve  within  it  strung, 
Nor  a  drop  its  joints  among, 
Line  upon  its  visage  bare, 
On  its  skull  a  single  hair, 
While  behold  !  each  eyeless  hole 
Gloweth  like  a  burning  coal ! 
Such  his  body  ! — but  his  spirit 
Glorious  rest  shall  ne'er  inherit, 
Driven  to  wander  from  the  isles 
Of  Manitto's  blessed  smiles  !" 

xxxiv. 

Sudden  the  ashy  brands  upon 
Sank  down  the  crumbling  skeleton. 
Their  wild  song  ceased — "  Tis  over  now" 
Exclaimed  the  seer  :  "  th'  oppressive  foe 
To-morrow's  night  shall  deal  in  vain 
The  blow  that  gives  nor  check  nor  pain  ; 
For  lo  !  my  charm  has  now  returned, 
Since  thus  Oneirah's  power  is  burned — 
That  sorcerer — that  traitor  spy  !" — 
"  You  lie  !  you  know  it  is  a  lie  !" 
The  Huron  boy,  at  last  o'erborne 
With  grief  and  agony  and  scorn, 
In  anguish  cried,  and  with  his  might 
A  hatchet  hurled,  like  gleam  of  light. 
Close  by  the  seer  the  weapon  sung  — 
His  agile  form  the  Huron  flung 
Into  the  dark,  while,  where  he  passed, 
Were  hundred  missiles  hurtling  cast, 
And  angry  warriors  followed  fast, 
With  whoop  and  yell,  that  rose  or  fell, 
As  swept  the  chase  by  hill  or  dell. 


/ 


TECUMSEH.  95 

XXXV. 

Ere  died  the  uproar  on  the  ear, 

There  drew  that  scene  of  terror  near 

Another  group — that  little  train, 

Wherewith  unto  her  home  again 

Tecumseh  would  the  maid  restore, 

Saved  but  her  sorrows  to  deplore. 

Less  faded  was  that  heavenly  eye, 

As  now  upon  her  misery 

Some  hope  had  dawned  ;  yet  was  it  fraught 

With  ever  sad  and  sleepless  thou  ght — 

The  soul  of  grief ;  nor  yet  one  hue 

That  cheek  of  placid  paleness  knew. 

So  oft  her  eyes  his  face  had  seen, 

Death  bore  a  most  familiar  mien  ; 

Yet  shook  her  bosom,  and  her  tread 

Faltered,  when  near  the  Prophet  led, 

Of  whom  had  fearful  rumors  come 

Even  to  her  secluded  home. 

The  leader  of  the  trembling  maid 

Delivered  what  Tecumseh  bade  ; 

Ere  Els-kwa-ta-wa  gave  reply, 

Forth  from  the  throng  De  Vere  came  nigh, 

And  told  in  whispers,  forward  bent, 

Should  presents  to  the  seer  be  sent, 

And,  from  beyond  the  waters  wide, 

Be  arms  and  various  aids  supplied, 

So  he  might  bear  the  girl  away, 

To  love  or  hate,  to  save  or  slay. 

With  joy  he  heard:  across  his  mind, 

Like  thronging  clouds  before  the  wind, 

Dark  visions  passed — the  war-path  trod, 

Battle,  and  flame,  and  fields  of  blood. 

But  artfully  to  both  at  once 

The  guileful  Prophet  made  response  : 


* 


96  TECUMSEH. 

"  'Tis  well — and  on  her  homeward  track 
Our  brother,  Vere,  shall  guard  her  back." 

xxxvi. 

Then  turned  De  Vere  :  "  Fair  maid,  thou  knowst 

How  kindly — but  I  will  not  boast : 

1  am  thy  guide  ! — now  learn  with  cost 

That  gentle  love  should  not  be  crost !" 

He  seized  her  arm — the  savage  throng 

Pressed  grimly  round — the  poor  girl  flung 

Her  frail  form  down,  and  trembling  clung 

To  Els-kwa-ta-wa's  feet — her  hair 

Sweeping  the  earth  so  cold  and  bare, 

While,  where  the  bitter  tears  fell  fast, 

Upon  her  face  was  palely  cast 

The  dying  brands'  unsteady  light. 

"  Oh  !  rather,"  gasped  she,  "slay  me  quite, 

Than  make  my  guide  yon  artful  one, 

Who  hath  such  cruel  murder  done  1" 

But  in  that  breast  no  pity  dwelt — 

He  raised  the  maid,  that  lowly  knelt  : 

"  The  Pale-face  loves  her — do  not  fear" 

He  said,  and  gave  her  to  De  Vere. 

XXXVII. 

But  instant,  with  one  angry  stride, 
Ken-hat-ta-wa  stood  by  her  side, 
Hurled  back  De  Vere  with  dizzy  whirl, 
And  laid  upon  the  shrinking  girl 
His  hand,  more  gently  than  he  wont, 
While  on  the  seer  his  dusky  front 
Frowned  darker  :  "  Is  it,  then,  for  thee 
To  sell  the  captive,  torn  from  me  7 
If  I  have  sworn  to  harm  no  more 
This  pale-faced  maid  by  wave  or  shore, 
But  make  Tecumseh  bear  the  hate, 
Unchanged,  of  Pontiac's  son  and  Fate — 


., 


TECUMSEH.  97 


Wretch  !  shalt  thou  yield  her  up,  to  be 
Burdened  with  scorn  and  misery  ? 
No  !  cherished  by  me  from  this  hour 
Shall  be  this  bruised  and  faded  flower, 
To  share  in  peace,  by  Huron's  water, 
The  wigwam  of  the  Ottowa's  daughter ; 
That  never  he,  while  suns  shall  set, 
Tecumseh  and  revenge  forget. 
Ay !  start — and  rouse  thy  menial  band — 
They  dare  not  raise  one  craven  hand  ! 
False  fool ! — 'tis  not  the  Ottowa's  turn, 
Like  yon  brave  Huron  chief  to  burn, 
Who  died  as  thou  knowst  not  to  die  !" — 
Then  turned  he  to  the  warriors  nigh  : 
"  Your  seer  can  talk — to-morrow's  night 
/  lead  ye  to  the  groaning  fight !" 

xxxvm. 

Then  with  his  band,  that  round  him  throng, 
Bearing  the  speechless  girl  along, 
He  plunged  the  forest  shades  among  ; 
While  for  a  moment,  through  the  rift 
Of  clouds  that  ever  darkening  drift, 
The  pale  moon  shed  her  quivering  beams 
Upon  the  fire-brands'  smoky  gleams, 
And  silvered  o'er  the  bones  that  lay 
Disjointed  in  the  ashes  gray. 


8* 


TECUMSEH 


CANTO  FOURTH. 


O  WAR  !  thou  stern  joy  of  the  human  race — 
Though  crushing  them  where'er  thy  footsteps  go — 
Thou  art  not  glorious,  but  a  murderer  base, 
And  bear'st  the  stamp  upon  thy  bloody  brow. 
And  this  too  dearly  by  their  woes  they  know, 
That  westward  lived  in  that  most  gloomy  hour, 
When  England  strove  th'  unconquered  strength  to  bow 
Of  this  young  realm  by  her  age-honored  power  : — 
No  more  may  such  contend,  since  neither  knows  to  cower  ! 

But  soiled,  O  Albion,  was  thy  starry  name, 
By  Indian  warfare  striving  to  prevail, 
When  oft  from  dwellings  wrapt  in  midnight  flame 
None,  none  escaped  to  tell  the  mournful  tale  ; 
When  fathers  feared  the  whoop  on  every  gale, 
And  mothers  clasped  their  babes  as  it  drew  nigh  ; 
And  maidens  in  their  dreaming  sleep  turned  pale, 
Or  started  from  their  couch  all  tremblingly, 
And  ever  passed  grim  Death  before  each  anxious  eye. 


100 


TECUMSEH. 


Then  honor  be  to  them  that  freely  rose, 
With  self-devotion  for  their  native  land, 
Encountering  savage  wrath  or  foreign  foes, 
With  heart  undaunted  and  unfaltering  hand. 
'Tvvas  not  for  fame  they  took  their  fatal  stand — 
Though  some  in  part,  perchance,  such  visions  moved, 
For  Glory  beckoneth  with  enchantress'  wand — 
But  they  were  fighting  for  the  homes  they  loved  : 
With  mournful  faith,  alas !  their  firm-fixed  love  they  proved ! 

Nor  less  to  him,  th'  unsullied  chief,  be  given, 
Who  led  them  on  to  victory  and  the  grave, 
Charged  with  his  office  from  the  courts  of  Heaven, 
By  soul-born  impulse  to  arise  and  save. 
The  beautiful  and  weak  create  the  brave  : 
Frail  trembling  thousands  on  that  soul  relied, 
To  which  their  very  trust  its  ardor  gave  ; 
And  Wabash  waves,  and  Maumee's  moaning  tide, 
And  Thames  dark-rushing,  tell  his  name  while  they  abide. 

The  storm  swept  by,  and  Peace,  with  soft  fair  fingers, 
Folded  the  banners  of  red-handed  War  : 
Where  broad  Ohio's  bending  beauty  lingers, 
The  chief  reposed  beneath  the  evening  star. 
Calm  was  the  life  he  led,  till,  near  and  far, 
The  breath  of  millions  bore  his  name  along, 
Through  praise  and  censure  and  continuous  jar  : — 
But  lo  !  the  Capitol's  rejoicing  throng  ! 
And  envoys  from  all  lands  approach  with  greeting  tongue  ! 

The  moon  rose  round  above  th'  Atlantic  main, 
When  that  proud  pageant  passed  to  mortal  sight ; 
And  when,  alas  !  her  splendor  waned  again, 
His  transient  glory  faded  like  her  light ! — 

0  empress  of  the  star-loved  realm  of  night, 

1  see  thee  shine  o'er  mountain,  vale,  and  stream, 


TECUMSEH. 


101 


For  thou  couldst  then  resume  thy  beauty  bright ; 
But  never  more  upon  this  land  shall  beam 
His  mild  and  honored  sway — departed  like  a  dream  ! 

To  own  the  morals  of  the  olden  school, 
To  be  true-hearted  and  of  soul  sincere, 
To  bear  down  vice,  yet  with  paternal  rule, 
To  nurse  no  hatred  and  to  feel  no  fear, 
To  raise  the  fallen  and  the  faint  to  cheer, 
And  be  the  soldier's  and  the  orphan's  stay — 
These  are  the  virtues  that  his  name  endear.-— 
The  world  is  change  !     Time  verges  to  decay, 
And  all  things  good,  but  Heaven,  must  fail  and  pass  away ! 

But  long  as  on  Ohio's  coursing  wave 
Is  borne  one  freeman  towards  the  glowing  West, 
His  eye  and  tongue,  above  the  chieftain's  grave, 
Shall  hail  the  marble  honors  of  his  rest ! 
And  long  as  Dian  lifts  her  waning  crest 
Where  Liberty  yet  holds  what  she  hath  won, 
A  pensive  thought  shall  haunt  the  patriot's  breast 
Of  him,  whose  reign  in  her  brief  year  was  done, 
And  from  his  heart  shall  rise  the  name  of  HARRISON. 


When,  waked  to  sense  of  fiery  pain, 
That  throbbing  ran  from  foot  to  brain, 
Upon  the  burnt  and  blackened  plain 
Stood  Moray,  what  resolves  possessed, 
What  thoughts  the  chambers  of  his  breast 
Pleading  with  many  a  tear  and  sigh, 
Love  urged  him  back  again  to  fly, 
And  perish  for  the  gentle  one, 
Who  thus  for  him  had  surely  done. 
But  well  he  knew,  it  would  but  be 
To  die  with  her — though  thus  to  flee 


TECUMSEH. 

The  ills  of  earth  were  happier  lot, 

Than  life  with  tears  where  she  is  not : 

But  hope  was  his  to  win  and  bless 

The  sweet  rose  of  the  wilderness  ; 

For  Heaven,  he  deemed,  would  save  from  slaughter 

The  beauty  of  its  loveliest  daughter. 

So  he  should  speed  him,  martial  bands 

Might  rescue  her  from  savage  hands. 


Though  sorrowing  every  step  to  part 

From  her,  the  star-light  of  his  heart, 

He  turned  with  aching  limbs  at  last, 

And  o'er  the  desolate  prairie  passed, 

Through  deep-scorched  roots  and  ashes  gray, 

Where  joylessly  the  moon-beams  lay, 

Till  after  many  a  weary  mile 

He  saw  them  on  the  forest  smile, 

And,  entering,  sought  where  Wabash  laves 

Vincennes  the  old,  with  loitering  waves. 

in. 

But  long  those  martial  bands  had  all 
Departed  at  their  country's  call. 
The  lover  paused  not.     Ever  thence 
Treading  the  shadow  of  Suspense, 
The  army's  toilsome  course  he  traced, 
Through  withered  wilds,  in  weary  haste. 
Two  days  and  nights  had  thus  been  spent, 
As  up  the  winding  shore  he  went, 
When,  as  the  sun,  all  red  and  round, 
Was  sinking  low,  he  heard  a  sound, 
A  human  voice  of  plaintive  wail, 
And,  turning,  saw,  in  darkling  vale, 
An  Indian  female  feebly  bending, 
As  if  some  faintest  trail  attending. 


TECUMSEH.  103 

With  cautious  step  and  curious  ear, 
He  stole  him  down,  and  listened  near. 

IV. 

"  He  was  and  is  not !" — thus  the  plaint 

Ran  mourningly,  but  low  and  faint. 

"  Where  art  thou  ] — Perished  is  my  joy  ! 

What  wrong  couldst  thou  have  done,  my  boy  1 

How  could  they  slay  both  son  and  sire  ! 

Wither  the  hand  that  lit  the  fire  ! 

And  be  they  cursed,  the  wolfish  brood, 

That  chased  the  scent  of  boyish  blood  !" — 

Her  tender,  touching  notes  of  wo 

Drew  Moray  near,  her  grief  to  know  : 

"  What  seeks  my  mother  ]     Is  she  left 

Of  all  her  bosom's  hope  bereft  ?" 

"I  call — he  comes  not !"  answered  she, 

And  raised  her  dark  eyes  wistfully  : 

"  They  burned  the  tree,  the  vine  that  held — 

Then  by  its  side  the  sapling  felled. 

How  cruel  were  they  ! — See,  the  sun 

Is  sinking — for  his  race  is  run  : 

But  ah  !  my  boy  had  just  begun 

To  bear  him  like  a  warrior  born, 

And  lo  !  he  sinks  in  early  morn. 

How  kind  was  he  !  how  swift !  how  brave  ! 

The  summer  rill — the  winter  wave — 

And  now" — She  bent  her  face  again, 

And  scrutinized  with  anxious  pain 

Each  crimsoned  foot-print :  "  Would,"  she  said, 

"  For  thee,  my  son,  that  I  had  bled  ! 

I  shall  hear  voices — but  not  thine — 

And  light  will  on  my  wigwam  shine, 

But  not  thine  eyes — my  child  ! — my  child  !" — 

A  low  groan  rose — with  accents  wild, 

Down  a  deep  glen  the  mother  darted, 

That  from  the  vale  transversely  parted, 


104  TECUMSEH. 

And  soon,  with  tears  of  grief  and  love, 
Knelt  down  the  bleeding  boy  above. 

v. 

Beside  a  tree  the  Huron  lay. 
Full  slowly  ebbed  his  life  away, 
For  many  a  wound  to  him  took  wing, 
But  none  that  reached  the  vital  spring  ; 
Yet  thence  so  free  the  blood  had  flown — 
Escaped  by  darkness,  weak  and  lone, 
So  long  a  way  his  feet  had  gone, 
Seeking  his  mother's  home,  that  now 
He  was  with  faintness  drooping  low. 
Blood  on  his  soft  cheek,  gashed  and  rent, 
'Was  with  unwonted  paleness  blent ; 
Around  his  frame  a  cold  dew  hung  ; 
The  raven  locks  all  damply  clung 
To  his  brown  forehead  ;  mists  of  death 
He  drew  with  every  thickening  breath, 
And  gathered  o'er  his  eyes'  wild  light 
The  shadows  of  their  coming  night. 


"  My  mother  !"  with  a  feeble  cry, 

While  joy  relumed  his  fading  eye, 

The  youth  exclaimed  : — "I  thought  no  more 

To  see  or  hear  thee  ! — To  the  shore 

Of  spirits  brave  and  blest  I  go — 

But,"  added  he  distinctly  low, 

With  earnest  meaning,  "  dost  thou  know, 

My  father's  gone  before  !" 
"  I  know,  my  child — I  sought  the  spot. 
There — ashes — bones — but  he  was  not ! 
I  covered  them  in  secret  place, 
Then  followed  sad  thy  bloody  trace." — 
"  I  perish,  mother  ! — promise  me, 
My  sire's  remains  with  mine  may  be— 


TECUMSEH.  105 

Not  here  within  a  Wabash  grave, 

But  by  blue  Huron's  sounding  wave, 

Where  once  we  dwelt — I  hear  it  still !" — 

"  Nay,  live,  O-wa-o-la,  and  fill 

Thy  soul  with  vengeance!" — Fainter  grew 

The  boy,  and  feebler  breathings  drew : 

But  Moray  to  a  fountain,  heaped 

With  dead  leaves,  bore  him  thence,  and  steeped 

His  brow  with  coolness,  and  distilled 

Upon  each  feverish  wound,  till,  filled 

With  life's  fresh  balm,  he  looked  and  smiled. 

"  See,"  Moray  said — **  my  feet  have  toiled 

O'er  many  a  hill  and  plain,  nor  dare 

To  linger  long ;  yet  will  I  bear 

The  Huron  to  his  mother's  home." 

He  raised  and,  through  the  gathering  gloom, 

Bore  him  a  forest  league,  till  rose 

Their  wigwam  in  its  lone  repose, 

While  others  distantly  appeared, 

A  Huron  village  rudely  reared. 

VII. 

On  his  low  couch  the  boy  he  laid, 
Then  hastily  a  farewell  bade. 
The  mother's  gratitude  was  tears — 
That  purest  in  our  mortal  years  ; 
But  Moray's  hand  the  Huron  took, 
While  all  his  fevered  bosom  shook, 
And,  pointing  towards  the  murky  west, 
Where  sank  the  ruby  sun  to  rest, 
And  east,  where  on  the  verge  of  night 
The  waning  meek  moon  rose  to  sight — 
"  My  heart,"  he  said,  "  was  faint  and  sad  ; 
The  Pale-face  came  and  made  it  glad. 
The  moon  may  change — the  sun  may  set — 
O-wa-o-la  will  ne'er  forget !" 
9 


106  TECUMSEH. 


VIII. 

Departing  thence,  through  half  the  night, 
And  morn's  less  spiritual  light, 
The  lover  sought  the  armed  force, 
Where'er  they  made  their  bending  course. 
At  last  he  saw  their  banners  streaming, 
And  bright  arms  through  the  gray  wood  gleaming, 
As  wound  they  on  their  guarded  way, 
Through  Autumn's  sorrowful  decay, 
By  fallen  tree,  by  rock  and  rill. 
Nature  around  was  hushed  and  still — 
Silence  of  grief ! — but,  low  and  dead, 
Leaves  rustled  'neath  the  soldier's  tread, 
While  over  them  hoar  trees  on  high 
Their  pale  arms  lifted  wearily, 
As  if  in  sad,  unbreathing  prayer 
For  them,  so  senseless,  slumbering  there. 
On  each  gray  trunk  the  white  moss  clung — 
Wild  vines  their  withered  garlands  hung 
From  bough  to  bough — from  his  dim  throne 
Gazed  sickliest,  through  the  smoky  air, 
The  regal  sun — all  things  did  wear 
The  cast  of  palsied  age,  and  aye 
Sighed  the  low  wind  with  sorrowing  tone, 
As  for  decaying  Nature  mourning, 
And  o'er  high  hearts — the  brave — the  gay — 
Beating  with  hope  on  Fame's  bright  way — 
No  more — no  more  returning ! 

IX. 

And  ever  as  they  passed  along, 
Glancing  the  forest  forms  among, 
And  peering  forth  from  shady  screen, 
In  rugged  dell  or  deep  ravine, 
Fierce,  dusky  visages  were  seen, 


TECUMSETT.  107 

And  eagle  eyes  with  threatening  glance 
Would  watch  their  hostile  arras  advance. 
In  vain  the  snowy  flag,  displayed, 

Was  waved,  the  sign  of  friendly  greeting ; 
Only  mute  menaces  were  made 

By  each  dark  form  retreating ; 
Nor  any  words  could  say  so  well, 
What  rarely  would  the  red-man  tell, 
That  lasting  hate  and  strife  must  be 
Their  heritage  and  destiny. 


"And  if  thou  canst,"  young  Moray  said, 

With  manly  words  and  few,  intent 
To  seem  in  pity  asking  aid, 

Though  cheek  and  eye  were  eloquent 
With  Love's  own  language  from  the  heart — 
"  And  if  thou  canst — nay  !  tears  will  start 
That  one  so  gentle  and  so  fair, 
Less  child  of  earth  than  form  of  air, 
Should  thus  a  life  of  suffering  live 
Even  in  her  youth — but  wilt  thou  give — 
I  know  'twill  not  enlarge  thy  claim 
To  goodness  and  an  honored  name — 
Yet  grant  a  rescuing  hand,  to  save 
An  orphan  from  an  early  grave — 
If  still  she  live — ah  !  much  I  fear 
She  claims  but  memory  and  a  tear  !" 

XI. 

Even  as  he  spoke,  and  pressed  the  hand 
That  waved  along  that  gallant  band, 
With  haughtiest  step,  but  friendly  signs, 
A  chief  approached  the  moving  lines, 
The  stateliest  of  the  stately  three, 
Sent  on  an  artful  embassy, 


108  TECUMSEH. 

The  Indians'  fierce  designs  to  cloak. 

"Our  brother" — thus  Ken-hat-ta-wa  spoke — 

"  Is  welcome  to  the  red-man's  home  : 

But  wherefore  do  his  warriors  come  ] 

Listens  the  Eagle's  ear  to  words 

Of  croaking  crow,  or  singing  birds, 

That  he  hath  urged  his  flight  so  far 

To  dye  his  wings  in  bloody  war  ] 

Brother — see'st  thou  with  darkening  pace 

Yon  cloud  pass  o'er  the  sun's  bright  face  ] 

Let  not  a  cloud  of  war  arise 

To  hide  from  all  his  children's  eyes, 

Whose  hearts  his  friendly  look  inspires, 

Our  father  of  the  Seventeen  Fires. 

Brother — few  nights  ago  was  brought 

A  pale-flower  to  our  camp  :  some  sought 

To  slay  the  girl,  for  red-men  slain  : 

Their  hands  were  stayed,  lest  blood  should  stain 

The  belt  of  friendship. — Brother,  hear  : 

This  night  encamp  thy  warriors  near— 

At  morn  we'll  pass  the  pipe  of  peace, 

And  to  thy  hands  the  maid  release." 

XII. 

As  spake  the  chief  of  captive  maid, 

The  lover  gazed  his  looks  to  read, 

If  she,  so  near  restored,  might  prove 

The  Mary  of  his  heart  of  love. 

From  that  unchanging  face  of  stone 

No  ray  of  recognition  shone  ; 

But,  glancing  Moray's  features  o'er, 

As  if  they  ne'er  were  seen  before, 

Though  all  his  vengeful  breast  was  flame, 

He  parted  calmly  as  he  came. 

Then  Moray,  cheered,  yet  half  forlorn, 

Resolved  to  wait  the  coming  morn  : — 

"  But  be  what  must — my  heart  be  brave  ! 


TECUMSEH.  109 

Love  lives,  though  Hope  and  Beauty  die  ; 
In  the  forest  far  I'll  seek  her  grave, 
And  lay  me  where  her  ashes  lie." 

XIII. 

The  camp  was  pitched — a  goodly  place. 

Level  and  high,  an  open  space 

Lay  sheer  low  prairies  between 

Of  marshes  wild,  wherein  were  seen 

Pale  autumn  flowers  and  oziers  green, 

Last  lingerers  of  the  faded  year, 

With  tall  grass  mingled,  coarse  and  sere, 

And  yellow  reeds,  and  rushes  dry, 

Scarce  shook  beneath  the  hazy  sky. 

And  close  behind,  along  the  edge, 

Through  tangled  roots,  and  scattered  sedge, 

And  drooping  willows,  ran  a  stream, 

Twinkling  with  blue  and  smoky  gleam, 

And  slumbering  on  its  mazy  round, 

Lulled  by  its  own  unceasing  sound. 

Before,  at  distance,  lay  in  sight 

The  wigwam  city,  on  a  height, 

That  looked,  with  its  discolored  crown, 

O'er  the  wild  Wabash  hurrying  down  ; 

And  all  around  were  forests  bare, 

Unmoving  in  the  sluggish  air. 

The  camp  is  pitched — the  guards  are  set — 

The  soldiers  round  their  fires  are  met, 

And  gory-red  the  struggling  sun 

Sinks  down  his  forest-couch  upon, 

With  dun  clouds  closed  before — 
Ah  !  may  he  be  no  type  of  those, 
That,  girt  with  strange  and  treacherous  foes, 
May  sink  in  blood  and  mortal  throes, 

With  death-shades  shadowed  o'er  ! 
9* 


110  TECUMSEH. 


XIV. 

'Twas  the  middle  watch  from  the  midnight  hour, 

When  things  of  evil  have  mightiest  power, 

Ere  the  winged  coursers  of  coming  light 

O'ertake  the  journeying  car  of  night. 

Aloft  hung  the  moon — but  her  face  was  veiled 

By  the  huge,  thick  clouds,  that  gloomily  sailed, 

Like  a  pirate  squadron,  with  streamers  black 

Bearing  terror  and  death  on  their  ocean  track  ; 

And  the  creeping  mists  hung  heavy  and  chill 

O'er  the  wide-spread  moor  and  the  rolling  hill. 

But  lofty  and  bright  blazed  each  red  fire, 

Piercing  the  dark  with  its  pointed  spire, 

As  if  on  its  glittering  wings  it  would  rise 

To  its  kindred  stars  through  the  murky  skies  : 

And,  clad  all  in  arms,  in  the  shifting  play 

Of  the  wavy  flames  each  warrior  lay, 

While  over  his  face  the  light  and  shade 

Of  changing  dreams  would  quicken  and  fade, 

Pleasing  or  sad,  as  in  each  brave  heart 

Trembled  sun-beams  of  joy,  or  grief's  keen  dart. 

There  were  visions  of  home,  and  love's  fond  gaze, 

And  remembered  pleasures  of  other  days  ; 

There  were  forms  departed — and  tombs — and  tears — 

And  sorrows  of  present  and  former  years. 

Oh !  never  the  mind  can  escape  from  the  scene 

Of  the  things  that  are,  or  the  things  that  have  been ; 

For,  when  sleep  hath  beguiled  from  the  toils  that  have 

bound  us, 

They  come  in  the  visions  that  nightly  surrounds  us  ; 
And  knowledge,  enstamped  on  its  memory, 
Is  a  part  of  its  immortality. 
Oh  !  never  the  human  heart  hath  rest, 
Till  its  pulsings  are  hushed  in  the  earth's  cold  breast ! 


TECUMSEH.  1H 


XV. 

Upon  the  farthest  verge  there  shone 
One  watch-fire,  sleepless  and  alone. 
There,  wrapped  in  soldier's  mantle  rude, 
Musing,  as  if  in  solitude 
Of  desert  waste  or  boundless  wood, 
Sat  Moray. — Pallid  Grief  may  sleep, 
But  lonely  Love  its  watch  will  keep  ! — 
He  gazed  upon  the  flame's  bright  glare, 

He  gazed  upon  the  watery  moon, 
He  listened  to  the  moaning  air, 

And  to  the  brook's  low  tune  : — 
Wo  to  his  heart !  it  would  not  rest, 
Though  with  a  weight  of  fear  oppressed  ! 

XVI. 

Yet  round  him,  half  reclined  the  while, 
Were  comrades,  studious  to  beguile 
Night's  numbered  moments  to  the  last 
With  memories  of  the  haunted  past. 
Full  many  a  tale  of  love  was  told, 
And  many  a  deed  of  hunter  bold, 
With  legends  of  the  gloomy  years 
Hesperia  lay  in  blood  and  tears, 
While  strange  and  fearful  things  were  done, 
And  fields  of  death  were  redly  won  : — 
Yet  rose  and  sunk  his  silent  breast, 
With  thoughts  but  to  itself  confessed. 

XVII. 

"  Come,  rouse  thee,  man — why  not  be  gay  ? 
Come,  sing  a  song  or  roundelay, 

The  tardy  time  to  kill ; 
There  is  no  hour  by  night  or  day. 
In  storm  or  sunshine,  but  we  may 

Be  merry,  if  we  will." 


112  TECUMSEH. 

Thus  spoke  the  reckless  voice  of  one 
To  Moray's  wondering  childhood  known, 
Still  gay,  as  when  he  rushed  to  die 
For  man's  best  birth-right — liberty. 
Full  fain  would  Moray  hide  his  care, 
And  strove  to  raise  the  merry  air — 
"  Oh  !  in  the  bowl  we'll  drown  dull  care, 

And  think  not  of  the  morrow" — 
But  her  sweet  voice  from  air  or  earth 
Reproached  him  for  such  heartless  mirth  ; 
So,  murmuring,  with  a  smile  and  sigh, 
He  had  forgot  the  melody, 
The  gallant  warrior's  words  he  sung, 
That  dying  lay  the  dead  among, 
When,  stayed  the  fight,  th'  unbreathing  night 
With  many  a  gazing  star  was  bright. 

XVIII. 
THE  WORDS   OF    THE    DYING  WARRIOR. 

"  Fallen  I  lie  on  this  field  red  and  gory, 

Thousands  around  me  are  silent  and  cold  ; 
Brief  my  existence,  but  deathless  my  glory, 

As  you,  ye  bright  worlds,  that  can  never  grow  old. 
Lo  !  now  I  die  for  thee, 
Heavenly-born  Liberty — 
On  thy  star-dwelling  banner  my  name  be  enrolled  ! 

"  Mother,  dear  mother,  the  tomb  doth  enfold  thee, 

Yet  shall  we  meet  by  unperishing  springs  ! 
Sister,  the  world — if  with  frowns  it  behold  thee — 
God  will  spread  o'er  thee  His  cherishing  wings  ! 
Father — thou  near  to  me 
Slumb'rest,  how  silently ! 
But  light  to  thy  spirit  immortally  clings  ! 


TECUMSEH.  113 

"  When  from  thee,  dearest,  in  sadness  I  parted, 

How  thy  pale  lips  faltered,  *  must  thou  be  gone  1 
Yet — yet  thy  country  calls  !' — O  gentle-hearted, 
Thousands  are  with  me — yet  1  am  alone  ! 

But  my  last  thought  shall  be 
Freedom  and  thee,  Mary, 
Where  the  perished  are  countless,  the  living  are  flown. 

"  Stars,  gazing  down  on  the  dead  and  the  dying, 

Yet  with  a  vision  unclouded  by  tears, 
Soon  will  my  soul,  from  its  dull  mansion  flying, 
Mix  with  your  brightness,  immortal  in  years. 
Yet  shalt  thou  be,  Mary, 
Dearest  to  memory, 
Mid  the  music  and  light  of  their  far-rolling  spheres  ! 

"  Oh  !  might  thy  kiss,  pressed  in  tears  and  in  sorrow, 

Close  my  cold  lips  with  the  seal  of  thy  love, 
How  would  I  welcome  Eternity's  morrow  ! — 

She  comes  ! — let  me  clasp  thee,  thou  Death's  gentle 
dove ! 

Breathe  thy  sweet  voice,  Mary  ! — 
O  cruel  phantasy  ! 
Can  it  be  but  a  vision  1 — yet  meet  we  above  !" 

XIX. 

"  Now,  why  so  melancholy  mad, 
And  make  us  all  as  owlets  sad 
With  woful  dole  ?  'Twere  better  far 
Night's  drooping  moodiness  to  mar 
With  voice  of  mirth. — O'er  half  the  earth 
Sheer  silence  reigns,  and  giveth  birth 
To  fearful  things  :  to  drowsy  rain 

Thickens  the  misty  air  apace, 
And  gray  Time  halts. — I  '11  raise  again, 

If  but  to  shame  grim  Nature's  face, 
The  merry  song  you  would  forsake, 


114  TECUMSEH. 

And  let  the  scouting  red-skins  hear, 
If  any  now  are  skulking  near, 
Their  enemies  are  wide  awake  !" 

xx. 
SONG. 

"  O  in  the  bowl  we  '11  drown  dull  care, 

And  think  not  of  the  morrow, 
Though  death  may  draw  his  noiseless  bow, 

And  point  his  viewless  arrow  : 
For  we,  who  follow  Fortune's  star, 

Fear  not  the  fate  before  us, 
So  we  in  joy  may  still  employ 

The  moment  flying  o'er  us. 

Chorus. 
"  So  tip  off  the  rosy,  my  boys, 

Each  to  the  lass  he  loves  best ; 
Let  our  souls  be  free  as  the  chainless  sea, 
Our  hearts  like  the  rocks  in  its  breast ! 

"  'Tis  mortals'  curse,  the  present  hour 

Must  future  sadness  borrow, 
And  golden  light  of  joy  to-night 

Become  a  shade  to-morrow  ; 
But  we  will  make  with  rosy  wine 

The  past  and  future  present, 
And  brightly  bring  eternal  spring 
To  joy  so  evanescent ! 

"  So  tip  off  the  rosy,  my  boys,  &c. 

"  Let  misers  hoard  their  shining  gold, 

Pale  watching  till  the  morrow, 
And  on  his  throne  the  monarch's  crown 

Gild  o'er  the  brows  of  sorrow  ; 
But  we,  who  live  by  bowl  and  brand, 

The  tented  field  our  dwelling, 


TECUMSEH.  115 

Do  never  miss  a  present  bliss, 
All  former  bliss  excelling  ! 

"  So  tip  off  the  rosy,  my  boys,  &c. 

1  We  may  embrace,  with  clay-cold  hands, 

The  couch  of  Death  to-morrow, 
And  o'er  us  haste,  when  years  are  past, 

The  peasant  with  his  harrow  ! 
Yet  drink  to-night  in  love  and  faith — 

If  Freedom's  danger  move  us, 
We  will  lie  dead  on  Glory's  bed, 

With  Heaven  and  God  above  us  ! 
So  tip  off  the  rosy,  my  boys, 

Each  to  the  lass  he  loves  best, 
Let  our  souls  be  free — O  God  !  I  'm  slain  !" — 
The  whizzing  shot  dashed  through  his  brain — 
To  earth  he  fell — uprose  the  yell, 
As  of  a  thousand  fiends  of  hell — 
Around,  beyond  th'  uncertain  sight 
Given  by  the  red  flames'  dancing  light, 
A  thousand  rifles  on  the  night 

Poured  forth  their  sulphurous  breath  : 
In  haste  the  doubling  drums  were  beat, 
And  hundreds  pressed  with  hurrying  feet, 
Roused  from  their  dreams  the  foe  to  meet, 
While  many,  'neath  that  leaden  sleet, 

Slept  on  the  sleep  of  death  ! 

xxi. 

"Arm  ! — arm  ! — if  that  ye  love  your  life  ! — 

Each  soldier  to  his  stand  !" — 
Prepared  for  long  and  desperate  strife, 

They  closed  on  either  hand, 
While  hastily  were  covered  o'er 

The  watch-fires  lighting  up  the  scene  : — 
The  dull  brands,  hissing  in  the  gore, 

Lay  scattered  all  between  ! 


116  TECUMSEH. 

"  Upon  them  now  !"  a  deep  voice  cried, 
And  instant  from  the  darkness  wide, 
As  Lucifer  had  led  his  pride, 
In  all  Hell's  terrors  panoplied, 

The  Ottowa's  war-band  sprung — 
"  They  come  ! — stand  firm  !" — As  mountain  rock 
Bears  up  against  the  tempest's  shock, 

Or  ocean  wildly  swung, 
The  host  abide,  in  lowering  row, 
The  onslaught  of  their  savage  foe. 
With  rifles  clubbed,  and  steely  brands, 
Wide  wielded  in  no  boyish  hands, 

They  dashed  them  down  before  : — 
Yet  wild,  with  war-club's  deadly  sweep, 
And  knife  and  hatchet  sheathing  deep, 
Still,  onward,  up  the  slippery  steep 

The  tide  of  battle  bore. 
On  level  space,  in  dreadful  close, 
Were  mingled  soon  the  struggling  foes, 
And  whoops  and  shouts  and  groans  arose, 
And  thickly  fell  the  murderous  blows, 

And  madding  Fury  raged — 
Backward  and  forth  in  tumult  driven, 
No  mercy  asked,  no  quarter  given, 
With  clang  of  arms  and  echoing  heaven, 

The  strife  was  blindly  waged  ! 
O  Hatred  and  Revenge  were  there, 
Triumph  and  Terror  and  Despair, 

That  spoke  in  every  yell ; 
To  charge  or  fly  alike  were  vain — 
They  darkly  fought — were  darkly  slain — 

Yet  sternly  grappling  fell, 
And  pierced  to  heaven  the  shriek  and  cry 
Of  life's  expiring  agony  ! 


TECUMSEH.  117 

XXII. 

Aloof  had  stood  through  all  the  fight, 
With  loose  hair  streaming  on  the  night, 
And  fluttering  robes,  the  haggard  Seer, 
Pealing  the  chant  of  fate  and  fear. 

"  Warriors — dread  ye  not  the  foe  ! 

See  Manitto's  burning  eye  ! 
His  red  arm  wards  their  shafts  of  death — 

They  fall !— they  die  ! 

"  Strike — redeem  your  fathers'  graves  ! 

Strike — revenge  the  wrongs  of  years  ! 
Strike  for  the  red-man's  failing  race — 

They  ask  not  tears  !" 

"  O  Seer,  we  fall !"  a  warrior  cried— 
"  The  death-shots  are  not  turned  aside  !" 
And,  at  the  word,  in  mingled  tide, 

Like  waves  by  sea-beat  shore, 
The  refluent  battle  back  was  poured, 
With  hatchet-stroke,  and  brandished  sword, 
And  cloven  crests,  and  bosoms  gored, 

And  rage  and  wild  uproar — • 
For  Harrison  had  wheeled  to  right 
Fresh  ranks  upon  the  thickest  fight, 

And  forced  them  all  before. 
"  Fight  on  !  fight  on  !"  the  Prophet  cried, 
"  The  victory  shall  not  be  denied. 
—  "  Great  Manitto,  thine's  the  hour  ! 

Let  thy  terrible  voice  be  heard  ! — " 
"  No  heed  to  him  !"  the  Ottowa  yelled, 
"  Who  dares  not  lead  where  men  are  quelled  !— 

"  Turn,  turn  against  the  foe  ! " 
And,  louder  as  the  war-cry  swelled, 

Dark  dealing  blow  for  blow, 
10 


118  TECTJMSEH. 

O'er  the  warm  heaps  of  weltering  dead 
Ken-hat-ta-wa  the  onset  led. 

xxin. 

Again,  as  if  they  could  not  feel, 
They  flung  upon  the  bristling  steel 
Their  naked  breasts — in  heaps  again 
Were  laid  to  slumber  with  the  slain  ; 
Yet  dragged  down  to  their  bloody  rest, 

And  throttled  in  their  agony, 
And,  stiffening,  strained  to  each  stark  breast 

Their  victors,  doomed  with  them  to  die. 
Darkness  with  fearful  sounds  was  rife, 
The  axe,  the  battle-club  and  knife, 
With  bayonet  and  sword  in  strife, 

Struggled  for  life  or  death  ; 
Upon  the  ashes,  drenched  and  shrunk, 
Sank  many  a  gashed  and  heaving  trunk, 

The  keen  steel's  shuddering  sheath, 
And  broken  skull  and  scattered  brain 
Were  mingled  in  the  curdling  rain, 

That  reddened  earth  beneath  I 

XXIV. 

Beside  a  low  flame's  lingering  light, 
Left,  in  the  hurry  of  the  fight, 
Half  smothered,  Moray's  bloody  hand 
A  moment  on  his  reeking  brand 
Leaned  wearily.     The  struggling  storm 
Of  conflict  raged  around  him  still, 
And  swelled  the  Prophet's  chanting  shrill, 
When  suddenly  advanced  a  form 
Athwart  his  gaze.     As  if  with  fear, 
Surprised  he  started  :— "  Thee,  De  Vere  1 
Now  where,  by  Him  that  rules  the  sky, 
Is  that  poor  maiden? — Speak  or  die  1" 


TECUMSEH.  119 

"  Thee,  idiot  boy,  I  do  defy  ! 
The  girl — perchance  she  hath  been  torn 
By  savage  fury — or  hath  sworn 
To  be  my  fair  and  loving  bride  !" 
Calm  scorn  and  irony  replied. 
"  I  tell  thee,  miscreant,  thou  hast  lied  ! 
She  never  could  consent  to  vow 
Love  to  so  vile  a  thing  as  thou  L 
Or  in  the  grave  she  hath  her  rest, 
Or  in  thy  wiles  ensnared,  oppressed, 
Is  still  thy  victim — which  her  lot, 
For  thee,  deceiver,  matters  not!" 
He  raised  his  bloody  falchion  high — 
"  Talk,  boaster,  till  thou'rt  hoarse,  but  I 
Am  given  to  fighting,"  cried  De  VereT 
And  with  his  angry  sword  sprang  near. 
Then  in  each  other's  keen  eye  glaring, 
And  each  his  right  arm  sternly  baring, 
They  knee  to  knee,  and  breast  to  breast, 
Against  each  other  darkly  pressed. 

xxv. 

Slight  was  each  form,  but  of  the  wild, 
Through  weary  months,  th'  adopted  child, 
Moray's  had  more  of  sinewy  power, 
Which  well  had  served  him  in  that  hour, 
But  that  De  Vere's  time-practised  skill 
Could  wield  his  subtle  blade  at  will, 
Which  swiftly  turned,  through  all  the  strife, 
To  guard  his  sacred  source  of  life, 
As  at  the  gate  of  Paradise 

The  flaming  sword,  that,  resting  never, 
Flashes  before  the  gazer's  eyes, 

Guarding  the  Tree  of  Life  forever  ! 
Ruled  by  a  fierce  vindictive  ire, 
That  shook  the  frame  it  should  inspire, 


120  TECUMSEH. 

The  avenger's  was  too  rash  a  hand, 

To  cope  against  the  calm  command 

Of  one,  whose  hardened  heart  could  rest, 

Like  cold  steel,  in  his  brazen  breast. 

The  conflict  was  not  long.     A  spring, 

A  desperate  thrust,  at  last,  to  fling 

De  Vere's  base  spirit  from  its  throne, 

But  all  unshielded  left  his  own. 

The  griding  sword  went  through  his  side, 

And  at  the  rent,  with  life's  quick  tide, 

His  struggling  spirit  urged  for  flight : 

He  reeled — he  sank — and  all  was  night. 

Still  sounded  on  the  battle's  din, 

But  reached  his  darkened  sense  within 

Dim  murmurs  only,  as  might  seem 

Sounds  of  some  strange,  confused  dream. 

Then  faded  all— his  fallen  form 

Lay  senseless  mid  the  hurrying  storm, 

Nor  aught  discerned  or  ear  or  eye 

Of  Death's  hell-hallowed  revelry. 

XXVI. 

The  strife  went  on.     And  now  the  day 
Began  to  dawn  with  misty  ray, 
Chasing  dun  night — but  when  hath  fled 
The  night  that  wraps  the  slumbering  dead  ! 
The  strife  was  done.     For  when  the  morn, 
With  leaden  light,  was  dimly  born, 
No  more  might  savage  force  avail, 
Nor  martial  art  could  longer  fail. 
The  troops,  arrayed  with  gun  and  blade, 
One  swift  and  fiery  onset  made  : 
With  struggling  pace  the  forest-race 
Fought  backward  for  each  vantage-place, 
Till,  like  a  cloud  on  stormy  heaven, 
Into  the  deep  morasses  driven, 


TECUMSEH.  121 

They  made  the  wild- wood  marshes  shield 

Their  remnants  from  the  fatal  field. 
But  ah  !  not  vainly  had  they  striven  ! 
That  narrow  ground  was  cumbered  o'er 
With  heaps  of  slain,  that  in  their  gore 
Lay  starkly  weltering,  or  had  now 
Grown  cold,  with  pale  and  changeless  brow. 
Many  a  goodly  form  was  there, 
Once  a  tender  mother's  care, 
Shrivelled  and  burnt  and  ghastly  bare, 
Mid  the  ashes,  shrunk  and  wet, 
And  the  fire-brands,  smoking  yet» 
Clasped  within  the  dusk  embrace 
Of  the  savage  face  to  face  : 
Many  a  noble  heart,  could  thrill 
To  martial  trump  or  maiden's  trill 
In  other  days,  was  hushed  and  still. 
Not  the  mould  and  form  had  perished, 
But  the  vital  fire  that  cherished, 
The  deathless,  the  ethereal  ray, 
Had  mingled  with  the  eternal  day. 

XXVII. 

O  Death  !  thou  great  invisible, 

Pale  monarch  of  the  unending  Past, 
Who  shall  thy  countless  trophies  tell, 

Or  when  shall  be  the  last ! 
By  thee  high  thrones  to  Earth  are  flung — 

By  thee  the  sword  and  sceptre  rust- 
By  thee  the  beautiful  and  young 

Lie  mouldering  in  the  dust. 
Into  thy  cold  and  faded  reign 

All  gl  jrious  things  of  earth  depart ; 
The  fairest  forms  are  early  slain, 

And  quenched  the  fiery  heart. 
But  in  yon  world  thou  hast  not  been 

Where  joy  can  fade  nor  beauty  fall, 
10* 


122  TECUMSEH. 

O  mightiest  of  the  things  unseen, 
Save  ONE  that  ruleth  all ! 

XXVIII. 

Then  dug  they  in  the  Earth's  dark  breast 

A  deep  and  a  wide,  wide  grave, 
And  mournfully  gathered  to  their  rest 

The  noble,  the  perished  brave. 
Some  were  fallen  in  youthful  years, 
For  whom  the  Muse  hath  smiles  and  tears- 
Tears,  that  they  fell  in  life's  fresh  morn, 
Smiles  for  their  glory  early  born. 
Some  were  sleeping  old,  and  hoary, 
Save  where  their  aged  locks  lay  gory 
On  wrinkled  brows — the  Muse  for  them 
Chanteth  a  solemn  requiem  ! 
And  thus  they  were  together  laid, 
Within  the  couch  for  valor  made  ; 
And  at  the  muffled  drum's  dull  sound, 
They  sorrowfully  gathered  round, 
Those  remnants  of  that  gallant  band, 
The  stout  of  heart — the  strong  of  hand  ; 
And  each  did  bare  his  manly  brow, 
And  bent  his  head  in  anguish  low, 
And  though  not  many  tears  were  shed, 
Their  hearts  were  with  the  silent  dead. 
A  few  brief  words  and  a  simple  prayer 
By  the  holy  man  were  uttered  there  ; 
The  farewell  shot  for  the  fallen  brave 
Was  fired  above  their  open  grave, 
Then  each  turned  slowly,  with  voice  nor  breath, 
And  left  them  asleep  on  the  bed  of  death  ! 


TECUMSEH 


CANTO  FIFTH. 


YE  that  in  brooding  idlesse  chance  to  trace 
These  lingering  courses  of  this  idle  lay* 
Now  with  imagined  speed  pursue  apace  : 
For  where  with  lagging  footsteps,  worn  and  gray, 
Through  many  a  month  Time  trode  his  weary  way, 
The  swift  tale  flies  upon  the  wings  of  thought, 
Embracing  seasons  as  a  fleeting  day. — 
O  wondrous  power,  with  God's  own  mystery  fraught, 
To  which  all  time  and  space  are  as  a  thing  of  naught ! 


O  couch  !  O  feverish  couch  of  pain  ! 
Thou  tamer  of  proud  hearts  ! — how  vain, 
With  thy  unwearied  strength  to  strive, 
And,  hour  by  hour,  refuse  to  give 
Thy  wasting  fire  life's  energies,. 
And  all,  save  that  which  never  dies  ! 
He,  who  hath  lain  in  thy  embrace, 
Laid  to  thy  breast  his  burning  face, 


124  TECUMSEH. 

And  shrunk  beneath  thy  stifling  breath, 
And  felt  each  moment  nearest  death, 
Though  Reason  still  retained  her  throne, 
And  viewed  no  empire  but  her  own, 
He  yet  hath  wished,  the  struggle  o'er, 
He  were  asleep  to  wake  no  more. 
But  when  the  soul  hath  lost  the  helm, 
And  wandereth  o'er  a  trackless  realm — 
The  deep  of  the  eternal  mind, 
Now  lulled  to  calm,  now  torn  by  wind, 
And  still  by  terror's  phantoms  haunted — 
Oh  !  then  that  lonely  voyager,  daunted, 
As  visions  of  strange  worlds  are  seen, 
And  things  and  forms  of  fearful  mien, 
Would,  in  its  fear  and  wild  despair, 
Fly  from  the  wreck,  it  knows  not  where, 
Did  Reason  yield  one  transient  ray 
To  guide  its  trembling  flight  away  ! 

n. 

Where  Wabash  sea- ward  hurrieth  by, 

Like  Life  to  vast  Eternity, 

Above  Vincennes  a  cottage  stood, 

Bosomed  in  Nature's  solitude. 

Low  was  the  cabin,  rudely  made 

Of  trunks,  that  once,  with  waving  shade, 

Rose  o'er  the  self-same  spot,  and  wooed 

The  varied  year's  inconstant  mood, 

Now  laid  unhewn,  with  clay  between, 

From  winds  and  crannying  storm  to  screen : 

And  humble  as  its  outward  guise 

Met  all  within  a  stranger's  eyes. 

The  door  that  closed  with  wooden  lock — 

Capacious  as  a  caverned  rock, 

The  clay-built  chimney,  opening  wide 

Its  broad,  rough  wings  to  either  side, 

On  bent  beams  raised — thick  pendent  there, 


TEGUMSEH.  125 

The  smoked  wild-meats,  the  hunter's  fare — 

On  shapeless  shelves  beside  it  stored, 

Th'  utensils  of  his  frugal  board, 

And,  darkly  round  the  walls  arrayed, 

With  all  a  hunter's  pride  displayed, 

On  wooden  hooks  old  rifles  laid, 

Rough  skins,  or  furs  a  king  might  wear, 

With  branching  horns  of  elk  and  deer, 

The  trophies,  to  his  brightening  eye, 

Of  many  a  sylvan  victory — 

All  these  had  shown  his  wild-wood  home, 

Who  only  did  the  forest  roam, 

To  war  with  creatures  by  their  birth 

The  first  inheritors  of  Earth, 

Had  not  bright  axes  on  the  hearth 

Declared,  his  bold  and  hardy  life 

Was  with  the  forest,  too,  at  strife. 

Thus  rose  the  woodman's  home  afar, 

Where  softly  sets  the  evening  star  ; 

But  with  its  loud  and  constant  tick,. 

That  told,  alternate,  slow  nor  quick, 

From  antique  case  of  ebon  hue, 

How  fast  the  silent  moments  flew, 

A  wooden  clock,  with  leaden  hands, 

Spoke  soothly  there  of  eastern  lands, 

That  hear  Atlantic's  billows  roar, 

Or  on  thy  green  and  shadowy  shore, 

Connecticut,  behold  their  pride 

Reflected  in  thy  glassy  tide. 


"  A  rough  day,  woodsman. — Bright  your  fire, 
And  cheering  is  its  ruddy  blaze  ; 

For  travel  through  these  wilds  must  tire 
The  stoutest  on  such  stormy  days." 

"  You're  welcome,  stranger,  to  my  home. 

'Tis  rude,  sir — but  it's  mine  !  You've  come 


126  TECUMSEH. 

Such  long  and  rugged  way,  harassed 

With  cold  and  snow  and  lingering  fast, 

You'll  not  our  humble  fare  refuse  ? — 

And  whence,  sir,  are  you  1  What's  the  news  1 — 

We  get  none  in  this  wilderness  ! — 

You're  from  the  east  f — New-England  ]" — "  Yee." 

"  Oh  !  stranger,  that's  a  glorious  land  : 

A  lovelier  heaven  hath  never  spanned. 

Land,  where  my  fathers  lived  and  died  ! 

Land  of  my  youth  and  manhood's  pride  ! 
Oh  !  ere  I  die,  that  I  might  stand 

Once  more  my  native  stream  beside, 
And  see  its  ever-changing  breast 
Reflect  the  heavens'  eternal  rest ! 
But,  stranger,  tidings  rarely  come 
To  these  far  wilds  from  childhood's  home. 
And  pray,  sir,  do  you  think  they  know 

The  perils  of  the  pioneer  ] 

And  how  he  lives  a  life  of  fear 
Environed  by  a  treacherous  foe, 
And  many  find  their  leafy  tombs 
Amid  the  forest's  solemn  glooms  1 
I  fear  not,  stranger  ! — Is  it  not 
A  sorrow  thus  to  be  forgot  ?" — 
"  Ay,  woodsman  ! — but  thou  dost  them  wrong. 
The  distance,  great — the  time  is  long  ; 
But  time  nor  distance  e'er  can  sever 
True  souls  that  love — they  're  linked  for  ever  ; 
And  the  bright  chain,  the  more  they  part, 
But  tighter  binds  each  panting  heart. 
But,  father,  live  ye  all  alone, 
And  hear  no  sweet  familiar  tone, 
No  household  voices,  save  your  own  ]" 

IV. 

"  Oh,  no — not  quite  alone — ah,  no  ! 
See  through  this  latticed  window  low 


TECUMSEH.  127 

Where,  mined  by  many  a  hardy  stroke, 

Par-crashing  falls  yon  giant  oak. 

They  are  my  sons,  sir — kind  and  true — 

God  bless  them  ! — yet  they  are  but  two, 

And  sadly  seem — Heaven  pardon  me  ! — 

Less  goodly  than  the  noble  three, 

That  moulder  in  their  battle-grave. 

Ay,  stranger,  they  were  stout  and  brave  ! 

Beside  the  Wabash  far  above 

They  fought  the  savage — God  of  love  ! 

They  perished  in  their  bright  young  years  ! — 

Nay,  stranger,  eat,  nor  mind  my  tears. 

My  father  fell  on  Bunker's  Hill : 

He  lay  beside  me,  stark  and  still — 

O  death  of  glory  there  to  die  ! 
Years,  years  have  flown — my  head  is  white — 
Within  the  cold  embrace  of  night 

My  sons  by  yon  dark  river  lie  ! 
Their  country  called  them — happy  they  ! 
God  giveth — let  Him  take  away  !" — 
"  Nay,  father — envied  be  thy  lot, 
Who,  thus  begetting  and  begot, 
Canst  point  thy  country  to  thy  line  : 
If  grief,  yet  glory,  too,  is  thine. — 
But,  eye  of  flame  and  restless  head, 
Who  struggles  with  that  feverish  bed  ?" 

v. 

•**  A  noble  youth.     He  fought  as  well, 
As  any  on  that  field  who  fell. 
I  saw  him  wield  in  thickest  fight 
His  circling  sword,  a  beam  of  light, 
And,  where  the  swift  flash  cleft  its  way, 
The  living  were  but  lifeless  clay. 
The  morning  came  :  we  found  him  laid 
Beside  the  heaps  himself  had  made. 
Pale,  cold  and  senseless — in  his  hand 


128  TECUMSEH. 

Still  sternly  grasped  his  gory  brand  ; 
Nor  fluttering  pulse,  nor  faintest  breath, 
Reclaimed  him  from  the  realm  of  death  ; 
But  through  the  gashed  and  quivering  side 
The  bright,  warm  drops  did  slowly  slide, 
And  in  his  breast,  with  fluttering  strife, 
Yet  feebly  welled  the  springs  of  life. 
We  laid  him  on  a  litter  rude, 
And  bore  him  through  the  wintry  wood 
To  my  poor  roof ;  and,  stranger,  he 
Shall  be  a  cherished  son  to  me, 
In  place  of  those,  the  loved  and  gone  : — 
The  rather,  that  I  deem  him  one 
From  my  own  native  land  ;  for  when 
He  wanders  in  his  feverish  brain, 
His  words,  disjointed,  sweetly  tell 
Of  that  broad  stream  I  loved  so  well. 
— Ay,  his  mind  wanders  !  Oft  he  seems 
Like  one  bewildered  in  his  dreams, 
Now  murmuring,  with  fondest  tone, 
Some  dear  name  to  himself  alone, 
Now  speaking  to  her  earnest  words — 
Love's  language  only  such  affords  ! 
Anon,  upraised,  with  bloodshot  eye, 

And  burning  tears,  and  gasping  breath, 
He  raves  of  artful  villany, 

Exile,  captivity  and  death — 
Then  shouts,  as  in  the  revelry 
Of  rushing  battle — then,  as  now, 
Sinks,  wearied,  on  his  pillow  low, 
Struggling  but  voiceless. — Look  you  ! — hark 
His  deep  delirium  you  may  mark  !" 

VII. 

The  hand  of  Death,  the  grave  alone, 
Can  from  the  human  form  efface 
Each  native  trait  familiar  grace  : 


TECUMSEH.  129 

And  Moray's  face  might  yet  be  known, 

But  oh  !  how  changed  !     The  dew  of  pain 

Sprang  from  his  crazed  and  fiery  brain, 

O'er  all  his  forehead — by  the  flame, 

That  burned  throughout  his  shrunken  frame, 

Still  drunk  as  fast ;  his  faded  cheek 

The  frequent  flush  did  darkly  streak, 

And  spoke  his  fearful  restless  eye 

More  than  the  body's  agony. 

AyT  that  was  nothing  !     Hour  by  hour, 

As  urged  by  some  resistless  power, 

His  wildered  spirit  voyaged  the  deep 

Of  his  dark  mind,  and  would  not  sleep, 

And  could  not  linger.     Many  a  scene, 

What  long  was  past,  what  ne'er  had  been, 

What,  reason's  mockery,  could  not  be, 

But  in  the  realm  of  phantasy, 

It  gazed  upon,  still  hurrying  past 

To  something  stranger  than  the  last. 

VIII. 

Sometimes  appeared  to  him  again 
Life's  real  scenes  of  joy  and  pain  :     . 
Then,  instant,  on  some  happy  shore, 

Some  starry  isle  in  heaven's  blue  ocean, 
Wide  fields  of  light  he  wandered  o'er, 

Borne  onward  with  a  spirit-motion, 
Unfelt  but  ceaseless,  to  his  view 
Appearing  flowers  of  fairest  hue, 
Bright  birds,  and  streamlets  trembling  through 
Green  waving  trees,  while  every  where 
Sweet  voices  lingered  on  the  air. 
But  these,  all  these,  he  passed  unheeding, 

For  one  loved  form  would  ever  greet 
His  onward  gaze — how  sadly  pleading 
That  they  might  meet,  one  moment  meet ! 
Yet  drawing  near — he  knew  not  why— 
11 


130  TECUMSEH. 

Oh !  ever  still  she  seemed  to  fly. 

And  he  would  call  her—"  Mary — stay  !" 

And  struggle  towards  her  beckoning  hand — 
Then  suddenly  would  seem  to  stray 

Alone  along  some  waste  of  sand, 
Boundless  and  burning  ;  or  upon 
Volcanos'  crumbling  craters  run, 
Through  smoking  sulphur,  parched  with  thirst, 
And  haunted  aye  by  eyes  accurst ; 
Or,  placed  in  frailest  skiff,  to  be 
Borne  tilting  o'er  a  fiery  sea, 
Mid  lava-bergs,  and  on  the  verge 
Of  molten  whirlpools'  circling  surge, 
O'er  which  the  glassy  sky  and  dim 
Stretched  sunless  far  with  smooth  round  rim, 
While  evermore,  through  demon  laughter, 
Her  gentle  voice  came  trembling  after : — 
"  Turn,  Henry,  turn  thee  !" — but  the  spell 
Compelled  him — where,  no  thought  could  tell — 
"  Turn,  oh,  return  !" — it  might  not  be, 
So  wondrous  was  his  destiny  ! 

IX. 

It  was  the  morn.     Around  his  bed 
The  cold  December  light  was  shed, 
As,  from  his  low  and  frozen  throne, 
The  sun  o'er  snow-bound  forests  shone  ; 
The  antique  clock,  with  warning  chime, 
Struck  ten  from,  off  the  hours  of  time. 
As  when  a  tune,  in  childhood  dear, 
Long,  long  a  stranger  to  his  ear, 
Wakes,  played  by  casual,  careless  hand, 
The  pilgrim  in  a  foreign  land, 
He  starts,  and  deems  himself  once  more 
A  slumberer  on  his  native  shore  : 
Ev'n  so  the  sound  of  that  sweet  bell, 
Strange,  yet  familiar,  broke  the  spell 


TECUMSEH.  131 

That  bound  his  spirit.     Still  reposing, 
But  with  a  start  his  eyes  unclosing, 
He  glanced  around  the  rustic  room. 
The  reverend  clock,  as  in  his  home, 
Looked  down  on  him,  and  in  his  ear 

Its  old  voice  lingered — where  was  he  ? 

It  must  his  father's  mansion  be — 
Yet  else  how  changed  !  as  half  in  fear 
He  was  but  dreaming  yet,  he  took 
Of  all  a  longer,  steadier  look. 

x. 

The  old  man  bent  above  his  head  : 

"  My  father  !"  Moray  feebly  said, 

And  gazed  a  moment  wistfully 

Into  his  face — then  with  a  sigh — 

"  If  thou  wert  he  ! — But  no  !  ah,  no  ! 

I  seemed  at  home — ah,  were  it  so  !" 

"  Thou  art ! — thou  art !"  the  old  man  cried, 

With  tears  of  sorrow  and  of  joy, 

"  I'll  be  a  father  to  thee,  boy, 
In  love  for  those,  that  bravely  died, 
My  first-born,  fighting  by  thy  side  !" — 
"  But,  say,  where  am  1 1 — 'Twas  a  dream, 
A  long,  dark  dream  !  The  gory  stream 
Of  battle  seemed  to  run  around, 
And  corses,  piled  upon  the  ground, 
Cumbered  my  vision.     Then — ay,  then 

Methought  I  strove  with  one — and  fell  :— 
Oh !  be  he  cursed  of  God  and  men, 

That  haunts  my  sleep — that  shape  of  Hell ! 
Next  came  a  darkness,  as  of  night, 
Where  nothing  passed  before  my  sight, 
But  formless  shadows,  till  a  sound, 

An  old  sweet  sound,  to  ear  and  eye 

Unbarred  the  haunts  of  memory, 
And  brought  my  father's  home  around, 


132  TECUMSEH. 

The  forms — the  tones,  of  other  years — 
Ah  !  wherefore  was  it  seen  at  all !" 
He  turned  him  towards  the  cabin  wall 
Half  sullenly  and  half  in  tears, 
Yet  pressed  his  hand,  so  pale  and  thin, 
The  woodman's  kindly  grasp  within. 

XI. 

The  winter  hours  !  How  swift  they  fly 

When  happy  hearts  beat  light  and  high  ! 

To  him  they  dragged  all  tardily. 

He  would  not  count  them  as  they  passed, 

But  wished  that  each  were  now  the  last. 

He  watched  in  languor,  day  by  day, 

The  shadowy  eve  and  morning  gray ; 

He  saw  the  sun,  within  the  wood, 

Rise  and  go  down  in  solitude  : 

Nor  aught  the  weary  silence  broke,. 

Save  that  old  clock  with  silvery  stroke — 

Which  had  a  mournful  voice  become, 

So  vainly  telling  of  his  home — 

Or,  distant,  oft,  with  quick  sharp  sound, 

The  woodman's  rifle  echoing  round  ; 

Or,  near,  the  measured  stroke  and  loud, 

By  which  the  patriarch  woods  were  bowed, 

With  their  slow  swing,  then  thundering  crash, 

As  chieftain  oak  and  warrior  ash, 

The  elder  world's  Titanic  birth, 

Hurled  headlong,  pressed  their  mother  Earth. 

The  future  was  a  darkened  glass, 

The  present  nothing,  and  alas  ! 

The  past  a  vanished  dream — oh  I  yet 

A  dream,  which  he  would  ne'er  forget  ! 

XII. 

Bright  goddess  of  the  southern  clime, 
Bedewer  of  the  wings  of  Time, 


TECUMSEH.  133 

Wand'ring  th'  eternal  spheres  among, 
For  ever  fair,  for  ever  young, 
And  still,  from  world  to  world,  renewing 
What  Time  and  Death  are  still  undoing  — 
O  Spring,  Earth's  visitant  from  Heaven, 
What  countless  gifts  by  thee  are  given  ! 
Thou  visitest  the  gloomy  north, 

With  thy  soft  train  of  whispering  Hours, 
And  all  the  stars  come  brighter  forth 

To  gaze  upon  the  opening  flowers  ; 
Thou  speakest  with  thy  gentle  voice, 
And  birds  in  green-  wood  bowers  rejoice  ; 
Thou  smilest  —  lo  !  the  mountains  blue 
Deep  dreams  of  ancient  years  renew, 
And  brooks  and  fountains,  singing  free, 
Haste  to  embrace  the  calling  sea. 
But  most,  when  worn  with  wo  and  pain, 
Or  age,  or  sickness'  lingering  reign, 
Unto  the  human  mind  and  heart 
An  angel  visitant  thou  art. 
The  faded  eye  grows  bright  to  thee, 
The  low  pulse  beats  less  languidly, 
The  pale  cheek  wins  a  fresher  hue, 
Exhausted  thought  revives  anew  — 
Even  palsied  age  thy  presence  greets 
And  from  the  grave  one  step  retreats. 
Thou  only  canst  not  from  their  bed  — 
Ah  !  would  thou  couldst  !  —  awake  the  dead  : 
How  would  the  minstrel's  heart  run  o'er 
To  meet  the  loved,  the  lost,  once  more  !  — 
Yet  why  awake  to  life's  wild  fever  ?  — 
O  thrice-belov6d,  sleep  forever  ! 


And  Moray  felt  the  quickening  power 
Of  Nature's  resurrection  hour. 
11* 


134  TECUMSEH. 

He  watched,  beneath  the  sun's  bright  eye, 
The  snows  depart  all  silently, 
And  the  broad  forest  round  resume 
The  beauty  of  remembered  bloom  ; 
He  saw  around  the  cabin's  door, 
And  creeping  its  rude  casement  o'er, 
The  green-wood  vine,  the  wilding-rose, 
Their  buds,  and  tendrils  soft,  unclose  ; 
He  heard  all  day  the  song  of  birds, 
The  hum  of  bees,  the  murmured  words 
Of  brooks  the  early  flower  among, 
Love's  language — while  the  heavens  above 
Descended  to  the  earth  in  love  : 
The  bounding  pulse  of  life  grew  strong1, 
And  all  within,  like  budding  leaf, 
Seemed  young — except  the  hermit,  Grief. 

XIV. 

It  was  a  noon  of  sunny  May. 
Far  in  the  green- wood  Moray  lay, 
Where  waters  from  a  quiet  spring, 
All  day  their  deep  joy  murmuring, 
Were  gathered  near  it  in  the  light, 
Amid  the  green  grass,  still  and  bright. 
As  watched  he  o'er  the  watery  glass 
The  imaged  clouds  all  idly  pass, 
Within  the  liquid  mirror  there 
He  saw  a  sudden  face  appear. 
He  started  up  alarmed,  and  laid 
His  hand  upon  his  trusty  blade, 
Then  glanced  around  with  searching  eye, 
Above,  behind  him,  low  and  high  : — 
Across  the  pool,  in  hunter's  guise, 
A  youthful  savage  met  his  eyes. 
The  Indian  moved  not,  nor  betrayed 
A  sign  of  fear,  in  features  made 


TECUMSEH.  135 

Calm  and  expressive — like  a  face, 

Forgot,  though  known  in  former  days, 

On  canvass  painted,  with  whose  look 

The  gazer's  breast  is  strangely  shook, 

He  knows  not  why  : — had  Moray  seen 

Before  that  face  and  earnest  mien  7 

With  keener  scrutiny,  once  more 

He  read  those  silent  features  o'er. 

It  was — he  knew  that  visage  scarred, 

Where  murderous  wounds  the  smooth  cheek  marred, 

It  was  the  boy,  now  manlier  grown, 

Saved  by  him  in  the  forest  lone. 

xv. 

"  O-wa-o-la  !"  he  gently  said, 

The  dusky  youth  like  arrow  sped 

Around  the  pool ;  their  hands  they  clasp 

Silently  with  fraternal  grasp. — 

"  Say — is  my  brother  well  1     Is  he 

Rejoiced  the  gentle  spring  to  see  1" 

Began  a  sweet  voice  earnestly. — 

"  How  can  he  be  7 — his  heart  is  sad  !" — 

"  O-wa-o-la  would  make  it  glad." — 

"  He  cannot,  boy  !     Why  hath  he  come 

Such  distance  from  his  mother's  home  7" — 

"  His  mother  dead  !"  was  the  reply, 

And  a  tear  trembled  in  his  eye  : — 

He  had  not  learned  yet  to  repress 

All  heart-wrung  drops  of  bitterness  : — 

"  O-wa-o-la  is  left  alone  ; 

He  hath  no  friend — no  brother — none  1 

But,"  added  he,  with  firmer  tone, 

"  The  moon  may  wane,  the  sun  may  set — 

O-wa-o-la  can  ne'er  forget ! 

The  pale-face  saved  the  Huron's  blood  : 

He  comes  to  do  the  pale-face  good." — 


136  TECUMSEH. 

"  'Tis  idle,  Huron.     I  am  left 

Of  her,  who  was  ray  joy,  bereft." — 

"  Say — doth  the  wood-dove  miss  its  mate, 

Then  sit  in  sorrow  desolate, 

Nor  haste  away  to  seek  its  love  1 

O-wa-o-la  has  learned,  a  dove 

Droops  captive  near  by  Huron's  tide." 

"What  mean'st  thou1?"  Moray,  starting,  cried, 

As  shaken  by  electric  shock  ; 

"Do  not  my  heart  of  mourning  mock  !" 

"  O-wa-o-la  a  singing  bird  1" 

Asked  the  youth  proudly.     "  He  has  heard, 

A  daughter  of  the  pale-face  dwells, 

Where  great  Lake  Huron's  billow  swells." 

XVI. 

As  bursting  sun  through  mountain  cloud 

Illumes  the  darkness  there, 
On  Moray's  face,  by  sorrow  bowed, 

Hope  brightened  o'er  despair. 
"  Heaven  bless  thee,  boy !     This  hour  I  go — 
But  how  the  maiden's  wigwam  know  ?" 
"  The  Huron's  mother  lives  no  more  : 
His  race  are  on  the  spirit  shore  !" 
Murmured  the  youth  :  "  why  should  he  not 
Guide  his  pale-brother  to  the  spot  ?" 
The  lover  spoke  nor  looked  reply  : 
Though  rough  and  smooth,  o'er  low  and  high, 
He  dashed  along  the  forest-path 
As  if  to  do  some  deed  of  wrath, 
Till,  in  the  cabin  low  and  rude, 
Before  that  aged  man  he  stood, 

XVII. 

And  Moray  took  his  hand  :  "  Time  wears, 
O  old  in  virtue  as  in  years  ! 


TECUMSEH.  137 

And  here  I  must  no  longer  stay  : 

Danger  and  duty  call  away. 

Whate'er  my  portion, — fare  thee  well, 

And  peace  and  safety  with  thee  dwell !" — 

"  No,  boy,  thou  must  not,  on  thy  life  ! 

With  death  the  very  air  is  rife  I 

Proud  England  threatens  to  invade 

Our  shores,  in  all  her  strength  arrayed^ 

The  stern  Tecumseh,  far  and  near, 

Musters  the  elements  of  fear> 

Wild  tribes  are  gathering  to  the  war — 

Stay,  lest  thou  die  alone  and  far." 

"  I  may  not,  father.     Life  is  vain, 

Unless  its  star  shall  shine  again  ! 

Where'er  t  be,  on  land  or  sea, 

I  daily  die,  till  she  is  free  !" 

"  But,  Henry — nay,  if  thou  must  go, 

I  will  not  stay  thee — but  I  know, 

Thus  dwelling  on  this  wild  frontier, 

I  shall  be  swept  to  death,  nor  e'er 

Behold  thee  more.     Then  wilt  thou  bear 
In  thy  young  heart  an  old  man's  prayer, 
And  if  thou  tread  New-England's  shore — 
On  which  these  eyes  shall  look  no  more  ! — 

Think  sometimes  of  the  Pioneer. 

Now  farewell,  boy !     Fail  not  to  pray 

To  Him  who  guides  the  wanderer's  way  : 

Be  good — be  brave — be  true  in  love — 

God  bless  thee — may  we  meet  above  !" 

The  twain  passed  silent  through  the  wood  : 

The  old  man  on  his  threshold  stood, 

Gazing  the  leafy  forest  through, 

Ev'n  when  it  shut  them  from  his  view. 

XVIII. 

'Twas  on  the  same  bright  day  in  spring, 
Where  Huron's  billows  slowly  swing, 


138  TECUMSEH. 

To  meet  the  lifted  wave  that  falls 

Round  Mackinaw's  primeval  walls, 

Beside  a  brook,  that  wound  along 

Green  trees  and  flowery  knolls  among, 

A  maiden  of  the  forest  stood. 

Oft  on  the  smoothly  gliding  flood, 

While  twining  wreaths  of  blossoms  wild, 

She  bent  her  beaming  eyes,  and  smiled 

To  see  her  face,  so  soft  and  fair, 

With  answering  beauty  imaged  there  ; 

Save  when  a  sadness  o'er  her  stole, 

As  pouring  forth  a  sorrowing  soul, 

With  broken  notes,  yet  sweet  and  clear, 

She  heard  her  comrade  singing  near, 

Whose  form  was  hid  by  foliage  green — 

Though  through  the  waving  boughs  'twas  seen, 

By  glimpses  of  her  pallid  face, 

She  was  not  of  the  red-man's  race. 

XIX. 

What  though,  a  daughter  of  the  Sun, 
And  rather  of  the  twilight  born 
Than  of  the  flushed  and  rosy  morn, 
That  maid  with  dusk  complexion  shone  ; 
Yet  was  its  hue  as  purely  clear 
As  heaven,  when  first  the  stars  appear  ; 
And  all  her  form  had  Nature's  art 
So  moulded  light,  that  every  part 
From  Naiad  foot  to  chiselled  face, 
Seemed  conscious  of  a  perfect  grace  ; 
WThile  her  untaught,  untainted  soul, 
Informed,  inspired,  illumed  the  whole, 
And  flowed  through  eyes  as  darkly  bright, 
As  e'er  were  lit  with  heavenly  light 
At  Beauty's  triumph,  Love's  fond  hour, 
In  court  or  cottage,  hall  or  bower. 


TECUMSEH.  139 

And  well  her  simple  Indian  dress 
Became  that  airy  loveliness. 
The  fawn-skin  frock,  so  softly  drest, 
Close  folded  o'er  her  swelling  breast, 
And  gently  bound  her  waist  about, 
By  belt  with  purple  warnpum  wrought, 
Thence  falling  short,  in  graceful  ease, 
Like  Highland  kirtle,  to  her  knees  ; 
And,  well  the  rounded  limb  that  graced, 
Her  crimson-broidered  leggins,  laced 
The  beaded  moccasins  to  meet 
Upon  those  fairy-fashioned  feet — 
These  soothly  of  a  youth  had  told, 
Of  delicate  and  maiden  mould, 
But  that  the  smooth  and  raven  tresses, 
Descending  low  in  soft  caresses, 
And  rising  breast,  howe'er  concealed, 
That  form  a  maiden  true  revealed. 
As  on  her  arm  there  hung  a  bow, 
Of  polished  length  and  ebon  glow, 
She  might  have  seemed,  that  forest  child, 
An  Indian  Dian,  chaste  and  wild ! 

xx. 

As  stood  she  there,  a  chieftain's  plume 
Advanced  amid  the  forest's  bloom. 
Unseen  by  her,  in  fixed  delight 
The  warrior  viewed  that  fairer  sight, 
Than  e'er  he  deemed,  could  greet  his  eyes, 
Save  in  the  Indian's  Paradise. 
At  last  she  saw,  and,  half  afraid, 
Prepared  for  flight.     "  Fly  not,"  he  said  : 
"  The  flowers  the  maiden's  fingers  twine 
Less  lovely  than  the  maiden  shine. 
Say,  doth  the  dark  eyed  Ottowa 
Braid  them  to  deck  her  bridal  day  1" 


140  TECUMSEH. 

Upon  her  cheek  the  deeper  glow 

Drank  up  its  smiles  :  "  No,  chieftain,  no  ! 

But  when  among  the  Ottowa  homes 

The  wise — the  brave — Tecumseh  comes, 

Whom  all  the  red-men  love  to  hear, — 

And  runners  say  that  he  is  near — 

Then—"  "What,"  he  cried,  "if  I  were  he?" 

She  gazed  on  him  more  timidly — 

Shrank  backward — then,  with  maiden  grace, 

Approached,  but  looked  not  in  his  face  : 

"  Why,  then  a  maid  of  Pontiac's  race 

Presents  these  Daughters  of  the  Spring 

To  cheer  him,  faint  with  journeying," 

She  said — and  with  a  gentle  breath, 

Much  like  a  sigh,  the  flowery  wreath 

Was  laid  upon  Tecumseh's  arm. 

"  By  this  clear  stream,  in  sunlight  warm," 

She  added  with  a  blush  and  smile, 

"  They  have  been  growing  all  the  while, 

That  they  might  greet  with  lovely  eyes 

The  Eagle  of  the  southern  skies !" 

XXI. 

"  Nor  doth  the  maiden,"  he  replied, 

"  By  day  the  lingering  moments  number, 
Till  sits  a  lover  by  her  side  ? 

Sees  she  no  warrior  in  her  slumber1?" 
"  Omeena's  thoughts,"  she  lisped,  with  tone 
Like  running  brooks,  "  are  all  her  own  : 
In  dreams  Omeena  is  alone." 
"  These  flowers,"  said  he,  their  fragrance  smelling, 

"  Are  sweet,  but  sweeter,  maiden,  be 
Flowers,  where  the  Shawnee  hath  his  dwelling  ! 

Say — will  the  Ottowa  go  and  see  ?" — 
"  These  grow  around  her  father's  home  : 
Do  such  not  have  a  fairer  bloom  1 
And  flowers  upon  her  mother's  grave — 


TECUMSEH.  141 

Can  any  else  so  sweetly  wave  ?" 
"  But,"  cried  the  chief,  confusedly, 
As  rose  to  his  her  speaking  eye — 
"  Tecumseh  is  the  greatest  brave  : 
His  hands  are  red  with  foeman's  slaughter  !" 
"  Omeena  is  great  Pontiac's  daughter  !" 
Was  her  reply. — "  Tis  Pontiac's  name 
Leads  me  to  conflict,  glory,  fame — 
That  star  shall  be  Tecumseh's  guide  ! 
Will  Pontiac's  daughter  be  his  bride?" 
"  Chieftain  !"  exclaimed  she,  pointing  high, 
"  See  yonder  cloud  climb  up  the  sky. 
And  hark  !  the  song-birds  will  not  sing  : 
They  cower  in  fear  each  shivering  wing. 
But  lo  !  yon  eagle's  rising  form  ! 
He  hastes  alone  to  meet  the  storm. 
He  cares  not  for  his  eyrie  past, 
So  he  may  ride  the  rolling  blast. 
Go,  warrior  ;  when  the  sky  is  clear 
The  Ottowa  maid  will  meet  him  here. 
Go — when  the  pale-face  dwells  no  more 
By  Wabash  tide  or  Huron's  shore, 
Then  to  her  mother's  grave  she'll  bring 
Young  flowers,  her  last,  sweet  offering, 
And  in  the  eagle's  eyrie  sing !" 
And  ending  thus,  his  hand  she  took, 
Softly,  and  with  a  soul-lit  look, 
Though  timid  love  her  virgin  bosom  shook. 


"  Ha  !"  broke  a  startling  voice  and  stern. 
Ken-hat-ta-wa,  with  eyes  that  burn, 
Behind  them  stands  :  "  Fool !  thou  shalt  sleep 
Beside  thy  mother,  cold  and  deep, 
Before  thou  be  Tecumseh's  bride  ! 
Home  to  our  wigwam  !  Hence !"  he  cried, 
And  stamped  his  foot,  "  nor  dare  to  leave, 
12 


142  TECUMSEH. 

Ev'n  by  thy  mother's  grave  to  grieve  ! 
I  love  her  face  in  thine  too  well 
To  have  thee  with  a  foeman  dwell ! 
— And  ihou"  he  said  with  lip's  proud  curl, 
"  What  dost  thou  with  a  simple  girl  1 
The  Ottowa  heard,  through  many  lands 
Tecumseh  leagued  the  warrior  bands 
For  strife  against  th'  accursed  stranger. 
Yet,  sure,  he  deems  there's  little  danger, 
Who  thus,  amid  the  darkening  hours, 
Dallies  with  maidens  and  with  flowers  !" 

XXIII. 

Tecumseh  answered,  but  repressed 

The  angry  words  upon  his  tongue. 
"  The  Shawnee  is  the  Ottowa's  guest : 

He  stands  the  Ottowa's  graves  among" 
He  said,  and  at  the  mossy  mounds 

Behind  him  glanced  :   "  He  will  forgive 
His  brother's  speech,  that  deeply  wounds, 

Nor  let  a  petty  strife  out-live 
The  red-man's  cause,  the  red-man's  claim. 
He  would,  Ken-hat-ta-wa's  high  name 
May  not  thus  fail  that  fearful  strife 
Which  ends  the  Indian's  wrongs  or  life. 
And  if  the  eagle  in  his  flight 
Has  met  a  warbling  bird  of  light, 
May  he  not  cheer  his  wanderings  long 
With  her  soft  eyes  and  spirit-song  1 
My  brother's  griefs  will  be  beguiled 
By  beauty  of  so  fair  a  child  !" 

XXIV 

"  My  guest  ?"  Ken-hat-ta-wa  exclaimed  : 
"  That  name  thyself  alone  hast  named  ! 
Unasked  you  came,  unforced  may  go  ; 
And,  as  you  please,  forgive  or  no! 
The  injurer  forgetteth  ever  : 


TECUMSEH.  143 

But,  tell  me,  doth  the  injured  1 — never  ! 
Ne'er  from  the  Ottawa's  soul  shall  fade 
The  seizure  of  his  captive  maid  ! 
— My  daughter  too,  forsooth,  is  fair  ! — 
Ay,  fairer,  than  that  thou  shouldst  dare, 
Or  such  as  thou,  to  win  or  woo  ! 
I  tell  thee,  wert  thou  not  my  foe, 
A  maid  of  Pontiac's  matchless  line 
Might  never  meet  embrace  of  thine. 
His  very  bones  at  such  disgrace 
Would  rise  from  yon  dark  resting  place  ! 
The  pale-faced  girl  thou  took'st  from  me 
Were  a  far  fitter  bride  for  thee. 
— And  why  to  me  a  whining  make, 
Lest  I  the  Indian's  cause  forsake  ? 
As  if  I  could  forego  my  vow, 
In  wrath  at  such  a  thing  as  thou  ! 
— This  petty  strife  ?     It  shall  survive 
The  green  earth,  if  Tecumseh  live  ; 
And  when  thy  soul  from  earth  shall  fly, 
I'll  haunt  thy  shade  eternally  !" 

xxv. 

Then  rose  Tecumseh's  heart — yet  brief 

And  calm  his  words  :  "  The  Ottowas'  chief 

Has  deemed  his  daughter  high  above 

The  honor  of  Tecumseh's  love. 

Some  day  the  chief  may  chance  to  find, 

She  is  not  of  her  father's  mind  ! 

— Thou  hast  avowed  thyself  my  foe. 

Proud  Ruler  of  Dark  Waters  !  know, 

It  is  not  in  thy  boasted  power 

To  make  me  thine,  till  comes  the  hour. 

That  hour  comes  not  by  insults  flung 

From  such  unbridled,  haughty  tongue  : 

But  if  thou  cross  Tecumseh's  path 

By  deeds,  thou  soon  shalt  know,  by  wrath 


144  TECUMSEH. 

Of  rolling  fire  and  reeking  steel, 
Thou  dost  not  with  a  maiden  deal ! 
And  more.     Though  Pontiac's  name  be  great, 
Who  bowed  not  to  the  foe  but  Fate, 
And  though  Ken-hat-ta-wa  may  claim 
By  worth  to  share  his  deathless  fame — 
Tecumseh's  name  in  many  a  clime 
Shall  mightier  be  through  coming  time  ; 
His  spirit,  lightening  far,  shall  dart 
Into  the  red-man's  mind  and  heart 
With  more  unquenched  and  kindling  stroke — 
Ay  !  as  that  flash  this  lofty  oak, 
Which — start'st  thou  ! — blazes,  rent  and  red, 
In  shivered  fragments  o'er  our  head  ! 
His  high  renown  shall  sound  as  loud, 
As — hark  ! — the  peal  from  yon  black  cloud, 
Hung  high  above — the  voice,  the  shroud 
Of  the  Great  Spirit ! — till  His  hand,  in  one, 
Hath  quenched  this  earth  and  yonder  rolling  sun  !" 
He  turned  in  scorn  :  the  Ottowa  stood  and  gazed 
Upon  the  blasted,  burning  tree,  amazed, 
And  filled  with  awe,  as  gleamed  Manitto's  eye, 
And  crashed  his  fiery  steeds  along  the  sky. 

XXVI. 

Meantime,  along  the  wooded  side 
Of  low  Wabash's  loitering  tide, 
O-wa-o-la  and  Moray  press 
Silently  through  the  wilderness. 
Where'er  they  passed,  beneath  their  tread 
The  foliage  of  long  years  was  dead, 
In  matted  mass,  while  huge  trunks  lay, 
Fallen  some  far,  forgotten  day. 
But  by  their  side,  upspringing  new, 
Young  plants,  and  flowers  the  fairest,  grew, 

Of  bright  eye  and  sweet  breath ; 
And  high  above,  proud  living  things, 


TECUMSEH.  145 

The  green  trees  waved  their  mighty  wings  : 
From  mortal  thus  immortal  springs — 
Thus  life  revives  from  Death  ! 

XXVII. 

And  Moray  stood  on  the  field  of  blood. 
No  traces  were  there  of  the  crimson  flood, 
For  the  kindly  dews,  and  the  rains,  of  heaven 
Had  wept  o'er  the  place  where  the  mighty  had  striven; 
But  a  scull  or  two  might  still  be  seen, 
Ghastly,  and  bare  of  flesh  and  hair 
By  the  rotting  rain  and  the  withering  air, 
Yet  tinged  with  the  dull  and  spotted  green, 
Which  hides  in  the  jaw  and  the  empty  eye, 
Ere  the  whitening  bone  grows  smooth  and  dry  ; 
And  rusted  and  broken  arms  lay  scattered, 
Hatchets  and  swords  and  war-clubs  shattered. 
Nor  gazed  he  not  on  the  peaceful  rest 
Of  the  brave,  by  their  country  and  Freedom  blest- 
A  few  wild  flowers  were  opening  around 
On  the  utmost  edge  of  their  broad  low  mound, 
And  o'er  them — so  gently  the  sunbeams  fell — 
The  tender  grass  had  begun  to  dwell ; 
And  he  thought  Old  Time  had  a  kindly  way 
Of  adorning  with  beauty  the  wrorld's  decay, 
And  he  sighed  for  their  dreamless  slumber  there* 
Embalming  in  glory  the  temples  of  care. 
O-wa-o-la  paused,  but  in  sullen  mood. 
He  picked  up  a  tomahawk  rusted  with  blood  : 
"  The  Huron  will  keep  it,"  he  calmly  said, 
"  To  remember  how  bravely  the  red-man  bled." 
But  a  strange  light  shone  in  his  large,  black  eye, 
And  his  struggling  breast  heaved  quick  and  high— 
What  means  that  hidden  agony  1 
12* 


146  TECUMSEH. 


XXVIII. 

Thence  crossed  they  many  a  forest  stream, 
Lone  wandering  in  its  shadowy  dream — 
And  passed  full  many  a  fount  and  rill, 
In  Nature's  ear  that  murmurs  still — 
And  saw  in  many  a  glassy  lake 
Their  glancing  forms  dark  shadows  make. 
But  none  of  these  fed  Moray's  sight 
With  wonder,  and  his  soul  with  light, 
Like  those  fair  plains  of  varied  dress, 
The  gardens  of  the  wilderness 
From  old,  the  true  Hesperian  named, 
And  lovelier  than  the  ancient  famed — 
The  boundless  prairies.     Far  and  nigh 
Vast  rolling  carpets  met  his  eye, 
Of  vernal  verdure,  wrought  with  flowers 
More  gay  than  bloom  in  eastern  bowers — 
The  jessamine  and  desert-rose, 
Sweet  honey-suckles'  urn-like  blows, 
The  wild-pink  and  the  golden-rod, 
And  nameless  more,  of  gentle  hue, 
That  from  their  tremulous  bells  of  dew 
Breathed  ceaseless  incense  up  to  God. 
Oft  rose  into  the  silent  air 
Those  ancient  mounds,  so  still  and  bare, 
That  seemed  as  ever  brooding  o'er 
The  annals  of  a  race  no  more  ; 
While  here  and  there  were  single  trees, 
Conversing  with  the  voiceful  breeze, 
That  through  departed  centuries 
Had  guarded,  with  their  sceptres  green, 
The  regal  realms  that  lay  between, 
And  in  their  gray  dominion  seen 
The  wild  beasts  come  and  pass  away, 
And  wilder  tribes  of  men  decay  ; 
And  all  throughout  were  living  things 


TECUMSEB.  147 

On  nimble  feet  or  glittering  wings — 
The  wild  bull,  with  his  shaggy  hide, 
The  mining  gopher,  seldom  spied, 
The  humming-bird  on  opening  flower, 
The  eagle  high,  of  kingly  power. 

XXIX. 

Now  past  St.  Joseph's  wave,  and  through 
The  fountains  of  Ka-la-ma-zoo, 
They  plunged  into  that  forest  wide 
From  Michigan  to  Huron's  tide. 
They  entered  fearless  :  for  his  way, 
By  stars  at  night  or  moss  by  day, 
O-wa-o-la,  in  forests  bred, 
With  never  loss  or  faltering  read. 
So  passed  they  Grande's  low-winding  river, 
And  Shi-a-was-se,  slow  for  ever, 
Till  from  its  southern  side  they  saw 
The  imaged  clouds  on  Sa-ga-naw  : 
And,  all  the  while,  the  Huron's  skill 
Could  slay  and  dress  their  food  at  will ; 
And,  if  the  night  fell  damp  and  chill, 
The  Huron,  with  assiduous  care, 
Would  Moray's  leafy  couch  prepare, 
And,  when  he  was  asleep,  would  spread 
His  own  warm  blanket  o'er  his  head, 
Then  sit  and  watch,  with  joy,  to  see 
The  pale-face  sleep  so  peacefully. 

xxx. 

'Twas  morning  on  the  wilderness. 
By  Huron's  shore,  in  rugged  grace, 
A  bare  height  heaven-ward  raised  its  face, 
While  Huron's  waters  at  its  base 

Murmured  with  soft  caress  : 
And  o'er  the  lake,  that  heaved  its  breast 
Like  war-horse  breathing  in  his  rest* 


148  TECUMSEH. 

Rock,  wave,  and  tree,  and  flower  upon, 
The  clear  bright  shining  of  the  sun 
Fell  steadily,  and  scarce  the  wind 
Stirred  the  broad  forest  spread  behind. 
Upon  that  hill's  high  summit  stood, 
Just  come,  the  pilgrims  of  the  wood. 
"  Lake  of  my  Fathers  !"  cried  with  joy, 
Yet  mournfully,  the  Indian  boy — 
"A  Huron  greets  thee  !     Let  his  ear 
Again  thy  voice  in  kindness  hear. 
Lake  of  my  fathers  !  moons  have  passed, 
Since  I  beheld  or  heard  thee  last ; 
Yet  still  in  dreams  would  rise  to  view 
The  swelling  of  thy  bosom  blue  ! 
Yet  still  in  dreams  thy  gentle  voice 
Would  make  the  Huron's  heart  rejoice  ! 

Brother — beyond  these  waters  deep 
From  old  the  Huron  fathers  sleep  ; 
But  one,  the  mightiest  of  his  race, 
On  this  shore  hath  his  resting-place  ; 
Who,  twice  a  hundred  winters  gone, 
In  dreams  was  told,  that  here,  alone, 
His  tomb  should  be  beside  the  wave. 
I  turned  so  far  to  seek  his  grave, 
That  ill  may  not  our  steps  o'ertake, 
And — look  you  !  see  yon  thicket  shake  !" 

XXXL 

As  crouched  they  in  a  fringy  cleft, 
Deep  through  the  hill  transversely  reft, 
Above  the  ridge  a  bright  plume  danced, 
A  warrior's  stately  form  advanced. 
Lake,  forest,  air,  in  heaven's  embrace 
He  mutely  viewed,  till  o'er  his  face 
Fell  deeper  shade.     "  'Tis  so  !"  he  cried  : 
"  These  scenes  of  beauty  will  abide, 
When  they,  who  loved  them,  all  are  gone  !• 


TECUMSEH.  149 

Vainly,  for  us,  thou  com'st,  O  sun ! 
Who  sav'st  not  with  thy  glorious  fire. 
Prophetic  was  that  dream,  my  sire  ! 
Untimely  strife  had  been,  alas  ! 
And  all  my  hopes  to  darkness  pass. 
I  hear  the  rising  of  the  wind  ; 
I  see  the  gathering  storm  behind  ! 
Yet  shall  Tecumseh  change  and  quail  1 
His  hand  be  weak?  his  heart  grow  pale  1 
No — never  !  Like  the  mountains  stand  ! 
Do  I  not  tread  my  native  land  ? 
Is  death  not  honor  1  Who  shall  fear, 
When  the  great  Future  hath  an  ear  1 
What  foe  can  bar  from  death  and  fame  ? — 
But  Time  forgets  the  warrior's  claim. — 
What  then  ]  There's  vengeance  in  the  strife, 
And  slavery  for  the  recreant's  life  ! — 
That  man  I  deem  most  truly  blest, 
Whose  fate  is  fixed  in  his  own  breast." 
— Another  step  :  with  stealthy  tread 
And  mingled  look  of  craft  and  dread, 
A  form  approached  of  plumeless  crest. 
They  met — their  hands  in  silence  pressed  ; 
Then  side  by  side  their  seat  they  took, 
And  long,  with  fixed,  unchanging  look, 
Gazed  o'er  the  broad,  blue  lake,  that  lay 
Bathed  in  the  light  of  early  day. 

XXXII. 

"  Brother,"  at  last  a  low  voice  spoke, 
And  silvery  sounds  the  silence  broke— 
"  Tecumseh's  moccasins  are  worn  : 
From  a  far  path  his  feet  return. 
But  doth  he  of  his  journeyings  tell  1 
He  asks,  is  Els-kwa-ta-wa  well]" — 
"  Do  running  streams  sick  hearts  rejoice  ? 
Such  is  to  me  Tecumseh's  voice, 


130  TECUMSEH. 

And  Kls-kwa-ta-wa's  soul  is  glad. 
But  wherefore  looks  my  brother  sad? 
Would  not  liis  words  the  red-men  hear, 
Nor  the  (Jreat  Spirit's  message  fear  J" 
"Nay,  brother,  like  a  rushing  si  roam 
My  words  have  flowed  :   the  rod-nuMi  dream 
J)arkly  of  vengeance.     They  have  heard 
From  the  strong  winds  of  night,  when  stirred 
The  mighty  forests, — from  the  wave.-. 
That  rest  not — from  their  fathers'  graves, 
Voices,  that  told  them  to  awake 
And  slay  the  pale-face." — "  Visions  break 
Upon  my  soul  !      The  hatchet  gleams 
From  the  great  lakes  to  sonthmost  streams  !"- 
"Ay,  soon  would  bo  the  pale-faced  slain 
Like  autumn  leaves  upon  the  plain, 
But  that  in  one  most  frantic  hour 
Thou  rnin'dst  all  the  handed  power! 
The  white-men  now  will  all  awake, 
And  many  tribes  the  cause  forsake." 
"But  know'st  t lion  not,"  the  1'rophet  cried, 
"  One  hand  can  burst  the  pent  lake's  side, 
A  thousand  cannot  stay  the  flood  ! 
I  could  not  rule  the  headlong  mood, 
Myself  had  wrought." — '"Tis  over  now — 
T  ho  re  fore  'tis  well.     But,  brother,  thou 
Art  shorn  of  power;  for  wide  and  near 
The  red- men  say  thou  art  no  seer." 

\\XIII. 

Blazed  fiercely  with  volcano  flame 
The  Prophet's  eyes  :  "I'll  clothe  my  claim 
In  mysteries  of  such  wildering  fear, 
Their  coward  hearts  shall  quake  to  hear; 
And  fire  shall  be  the  scorner's  part !" — 
"Can  causeless  murder  joy  thy  heart  ! 
Thou  saidst  no  more  should  thus  be  burned: 
Yet,  soon  as  e'er  my  feet  were  turned, 


TECUMSEH.  151 

Oneirah's  fearless  life  was  o'er." — 
"  I  care  not !  He  will  sneer  no  more  ! 
Thy  heart  is  pale  !  If  thou  hast  dread 
To  slay  a  foeman,  white  or  red, 
Chieftain  or  maiden,  young  or  old — 
Then  go  !  The  prophet  will  unfold 
Dark  counsels,  and  his  war-bands  lead 
To  carnage,  flame  and  warrior  deed  !" 

xxxiv. 

Tecumseh  rose.    Each  feature  glowed 

As  swiftly  to  and  fro  he  strode, 

While,  shadowing  o'er  his  eye  of  fire, 

So  shaken  by  his  trembling  ire, 

The  broad  plume  waved  :  "  Now  wert  thou  not 

My  father's  son,  and  lov'st  the  spot 

Where  we  were  born,  as  well  as  I, 

I'd  hurl  thee  from  the  cliff  to  die, 

And  hide,  yon  weltering  depths  among, 

The  slanders  of  thy  lying  tongue  ! 

Pale-hearted  1 — When  the  battle  bleeds, 

And  men  are  crushed,  like  withered  reeds, 

Mid  crash  of  arms  and  trampling  steeds, 

If  thou,  through  groans  and  mangled  dead, 

Wilt  go  where'er  Tecumseh  tread, 

Thy  name  through  coming  years  shall  be 

From  silence  and  oblivion  free  !" 

xxxv. 

The  prophet  cowered  beneath  the  blaze, 
Nor  dared  his  quailing  eyes  to  raise, 
But  with  a  low,  sad  voice  replied  : 
"  Who  can  Tecumseh's  wrath  abide  ? 
It  is  the  wind  and  rushing  blast  ! 
But  harmlessly  its  power  hath  passed — 
For  Els-kwa-ta-wa  is  a  tree 
Blasted  and  bare  I — 'Twas  not  for  me 


152  TECUMSEH. 

To  rouse  my  brother's  angry  might, 
Which  should  the  pallid  foe  affright." — 
"  Enough  :  'tis  o'er. — We  must  arise 
And  bend  our  souls'  deep  energies, 
With  few  to  aid.     The  conflict  comes, 
While  many  strive  not  for  their  homes. 
Yet  on  ! — Regain  thy  power  :  I  go 
To  meet  the  councils  held  below, 
And  then  again  I  journey  forth 
Round  the  far  South  and  watery  North. 
How  shall  we  falter — since  to  live 
Were  useless,  if  our  wrongs  survive  !" 
O'er  the  blue  wave  one  lingering  look  they  cast, 
Then  from  the  rock  in  brooding  sadness  passed. 

xxxvi. 

As  died  the  sound  of  distant  feet 
The  Huron  sprung  from  his  retreat : 
"  Now  by  my  father's  grave  unblest, 
Where  nought  but  formless  ashes  rest, 
Thou  murderer  !  if  a  nobler  here, 
Whom  all  the  red-men's  minds  revere, 
Had  not  rebuked  thy  soul  with  fear, 
I  would  have  torn  thy  breast  apart, 
And  set  my  heel  upon  thy  heart ! 
But  there  shall  come  an  hour  at  last, 
Ere  yet  the  Huron's  life  be  past !" 
He  turned — and  soon  in  forest  gloom 
Was  standing  by  a  single  tomb. 
Two  hundred  years  their  flight  had  made> 
Since  in  that  tomb  the  chief  was  laid. 
Two  hundred  years  !  yet  there  it  stood — 
With  yearly  reverent  care  renewed — 
The  same,  as  when  it  first  was  reared 
For  him  the  valiant,  wise,  revered, 
A  long  low  mound  upon  the  shore, 
With  birchen  bark  all  plaited  o'er, 


TECUMSEH.  153 

Fresh  peeled,  though  round  the  edge  were  seen 

A  century's  matted  mosses  green ; 

And  ever  the  wave,  upheaving  nigh, 

A  voiceful  requiem  lifted  high. 

What  kept  unchanged  that  mound  so  lone, 

While  empires  from  the  Earth  had  gone  1 — 

Man's  dearest  blessing  from  above, 

The  universal  heart  of  love  ! 

And  if  the  savage,  bending  there, 

Breathed  to  that  dust  his  simple  prayer, 

Ah  !  deem  his  soul,  by  Nature  taught, 

With  no  unseemly  reverence  fraught ! 

XXXVII. 

Three  days  were  past.     The  noon-tide  sun 
In  solitary  lustre  shone 
Upon  the  Ottowa's  wigwam  dwelling, 
And  on  the  straits,  that,  darkly  swelling, 
Roll  round  that  level  forest  wide, 
A  hundred  leagues  on  either  side, 
The  northern  sea's  eternal  tide. 
With  stealthy  step  and  cautious  look, 
From  woody  hill  survey  they  took. 
"  See  !"  said  the  Huron,  crouching  low, 
"  The  women  work — they  plant,  they  hoe  ; 
Papooses  play  ;  the  maidens  braid 
Their  baskets  in  the  breezy  shade. 
Soon  will  I  learn  of  one  below 
What  most  my  brother's  heart  would  know." 
He  started — from  the  hill  was  gone, 
Through  elmy  shadows  stealing  down, 
Where  one  of  years,  alone  remaining, 
Was  wild  gourds  to  the  sun  light  training. 
And  Moray  saw  the  matron  raise 
Her  aged  arm,  and  slowly  trace 
The  winding  course  of  watery  way, 
By  strait  and  island,  cape  and  bay, 
13 


154  TECUMSEH. 

Till  westward  its  direction  bore 

By  far  Superior's  lonely  shore. 

His  heart  grew  sick — what  sees  he  more  7 — 

The  Huron  turned  and  sought  the  hill. 

Upon  his  bosom,  cold  and  still, 

Was  Moray  stretched — o'ercome  that  hour 

By  fear  and  sickness'  lingering  power. 

XXXVIII. 

"  Brother — awake  !"  the  Huron  said, 

And  saying  raised  his  drooping  head. 

"  Brother,  awake  ! — If  thou  art  gone, 

Then  is  O-wa-o-la  alone  ! 

But  thou  art  blest.     No  ills  molest 

The  brightness  of  that  island-rest : — 

Then  wake  no  more  !" — On  Moray's  heart 

He  laid  his  hand — with  sudden  start 

Uprose  and  bore  him  to  a  rill, 

His  bloodless  hands  and  forehead  chill 

Bathed  softly,  till,  at  length,  again, 

But  slowly  crept  through  each  blue  vein 

The  quickening  blood.     One  flash  of  thought — 

Wildly  the  Huron's  arm  he  caught : 

"  Speak  ! — speak  ! — where  is  she  1 — hath  she  died  7" 

"  Where  her  maternal  race  abide" 

The  youth  with  earnest  gaze  replied, 
"  The  chief  along  the  Mighty  Water 
Has  borne  the  captive  and  his  daughter."  — 

"  But  why  7" — "  To  keep  them  safe  afar, 

As  he  proclaims,  from  coming  war ; 

Yon  matron  says,  he  would  remove 

That  daughter  from  Tecurnseh's  love. 

Fool !  thus  to  scorn,  in  proud  defiance, 

The  glory  of  such  high  alliance  !" 


TECUMSEH.  155 

XXXIX. 

"Ah  lost !— Yet  will  I  seek  for  thee, 
My  heart's  sole  vestal,  though  the  flight 
Lead  me  beneath  the  northern  light !  — 

But  thou,  O-wa-o-la,  art  free. 

t  will  not  ask  thee  still  to  share 

My  toil,  my  sorrow,  my  despair." — 

"  Behold  across  th'  abiding  sky 

Yon  pale-faced  cloud  unresting  fly, 

And  where  it  hastes,  o'er  wood  and  river, 

Its  dusky  shadow  gliding  ever. 

My  brother  is  that  cloud  so  pale — 
He  cannot  rest — he  will  not  stay  : 

The  Huron  is  its  shadow  frail, 
That  darkly  haunts  its  destined  way, 

And  may  not  leave  it,  save  to  die. 

No  !  still  beneath  my  brother's  eye 

I'll  wander  on  and  seek  each  day 

His  lost  dove"  said  O-wa-o-la. 


TECUMSEH 


CANTO  SIXTH. 


DAUGHTER  of  Heaven  !  that  in  immortal  dreams, 
Hauntedst  of  old  Parnassus'  mossy  springs, 
Idalian  dells,  and  Helicon's  cool  streams, 
And  Tempe,  loveliest  deemed  of  earthly  things  ; 
Or,  later,  where  its  leaves  the  myrtle  flings 
On  Arno's  wave,  and  soft  Vauclusa's  dews, 
Or  where  the  swan  by  honored  Avon  sings — 
Wilt  thou  to  this  new  clime,  eternal  muse, 
In  Hesperus'  starry  robes  thy  pensive  steps  refuse  1 

Oh  !  mourn  no  more  neglected  haunts  to  see, 
Castalia's  fount  and  Delphi's  holy  shrine  I 
Oh  !  weep  not  now  by  fair  Parthenope  t 
Nor  only  stray  where  Albion's  glories  shine, 
Or  by  the  beauty  of  the  castled  Rhine  ! 
For  in  this  long-unknown,  Atlantian  land 
Are  plains,  lakes,  mountains,  rivers,  more  divine 
Than  mightiest  bards  ere  sung  at  thy  command  : — 
So  might  I  strike  the  harp  with  more  celestial  hand  ! 
13* 


158  TECUMSEH. 

Awake  to  loftiest  strains,  Hesperian  lyre  ! 
Let  trembling  rapture  swell  the  rising  song  ; 
Breathe,  breathe,  O  minstrel  soul,  diviner  fire 
The  Delian  shell's  ecstatic  chords  among  ! 
For  now  the  pilgrim  youth  are  borne  along, 
Where  the  sky-glassing  waters  of  the  north — 
With  many  a  green  isle  on  their  azure  flung, 
And  streams,  and  shores  immortal — shadow  forth 
The  majesty,  at  once,  of  heaven,  and  air,  and  earth. 


Within  a  green  secluded  vale, 

That  opened  out  upon  the  deep, 
By  rippling  wave  and  breathing  gale 

And  rustling  foliage  lulled  to  sleep, 
To  bear  them  o'er  the  waters  blue, 
The  Huron  built  his  light  canoe. 
With  hatchet,  ever  borne  for  use, 
He  hewed  him  bending  roots  of  spruce  ; 
Around  their  smooth,  opposing  bows, 
In  graceful  curvature  that  rose, 
Long,  slender  rods  he  lightly  drew, 
Of  cedar  red  and  springy  yew  ; 
From  many  a  trunk,  left  white  and  stark, 
Peeled  wide  and  thin  the  birchen  bark, 
Which,  lapped  and  folded  close  around 
The  jointed  frame,  and  firmly  bound 
In  plaited  edges  o'er  the  rim, 
He  sewed  with  fibrous  wattap  slim, 
And  pitched,  along  each  seam  and  line, 
With  resin  of  the  gummy  pine  ; 
Then,  last,  adorned  with  skilful  eye 
Its  sides,  and  endings  curving  high, 
With  chequered  quills  and  varied  paint, 
In  all  devices  queer  and  quaint — 
Bright  snakes,  and  birds  of  many  a  hue, 
And  forms  that  Fancy's  fingers  drew. 


TECUMSEH.  159 


II. 

Two  days  are  past — the  work  is  done. 

The  Huron,  with  the  rising  sun, 

Exulting  bears  along  the  vale 

His  skill- wrought  structure,  fair  and  frail, 

And  lays  it  on  the  dancing  tide, 

A  graceful  thing — a  thing  of  pride — 

As  if  it  were  a  drearn  of  night 

That  faded  not  with  morning  light. 

Like  twittering  swallow  on  the  wing, 

Scarce  touched  the  tide  that  trembling  thing, 

And  lay  like  child  on  cradled  pillow, 

Still  rocking  with  the  rocking  billow, 

So  light,  so  fairy-like,  'twould  seem 

Each  breath  would  scare  its  first  young  dream. 

Each  ruder  gale  its  sleep  would  wake, 

Each  swaying  of  the  cradling  lake 

Its  fragile  elements  would  break. 

Yet  will  this  bark,  so  frail  and  fair, 

Strong  tide  and  heaving  billow  bear, 

And  waft  the  forest  pilgrims  far 

Beneath  the  lonely  northern  star. 

in. 

And  now  their  feet  the  waters  lave, 
Now  o'er  the  brightly  lifted  wave 
Their  birchen  vessel  lightly  flies, 
As  o'er  the  deep  the  sea-mew  hies, 
That  only  cleaves,  with  gleaming  breast, 
The  white  foam  of  each  billow's  crest. 
Now  rising  out  the  wave  they  saw 
The  morn-kissed  cliffs  of  Mackinaw, 
With  chalky  crags,  and  fortress  white, 
And  green-wood,  crowning  every  height, 
Bathed  in  the  day-burst's  dewy  light, 
While  many  a  mile  upon  the  deep 


160  TECUMSEH. 

Their  dark,  broad  shadows  lay  asleep  ; 
And  now  they  eastward  glanced  around 
Below  the  very  walls  that  frowned, 
Sheer  thrice  a  hundred  feet  in  air, 
With  beetling  brows  and  bosom  bare  ; 
And  now  they  see  the  island  grow 
Faint  in  the  distance  dim — and  now 
The  farewell  gaze  is  backward  cast, 
St.  Martin's  Isles  are  quickly  passed, 
And  all  the  day,  while  round  them  lie 
All  glorious  things  'twixt  earth  and  sky, 
Gleams  on  the  bark  from  swell  to  swell, 
As  doth  the  nautilus'  pearly  shell, 
Till  loud  along  the  broken  shore 
They  hear  the  northern  billows  roar, 
And,  gliding  round,  encamp  secure 
Beyond  the  cape  of  wild  Detour. 

IV. 

The  morn  is  up — the  heavens  are  bright — 

Green  Drummond's  isle  is  bathed  in  light, 

And,  far  along,  the  British  coast 

Its  passing  loveliness  may  boast — 

The  wave  and  sky  in  glory  met, 

Each  emerald  isle  in  azure  set, 

And  hills,  with  varied  woods  between, 

Steeped  in  the  gladness  of  the  scene. 

O  Nature  !  mighty  Nature  !  thee 

Obeys  the  earth,  the  sky,  the  sea  ! 

At  thy  immortal,  balmy  breath 

Each  morn  awakes  the  world  from  death, 

And  by  thy  power,  unchanged,  unworn, 

The  universe  is  hourly  born, 

As  ever  on,  from  sphere  to  sphere, 

Circleth  around  the  eternal  year  ! — 


TECUMSEH.  161 

Merrily  as  the  waters  glide, 

So  merrily  shoots  along  the  tide 

Their  birchen  boat,  the  light  clouds  lying 

Upon  the  stainless  heavens — how  blest  1 
Their  shadows  still,  yet  seen  as  flying 

Across  the  waters'  moving  breast, 
The  low  winds  to  the  waves  replying, 

In  love  caressing  and  caressed  ! 

v. 

And  thus  along  St.  Mary's  river — 
That,  darkly  flowing,  hastes  forever,. 
Nor  lingers,  though  a  hundred  isles 
Entice  to  stay  with  tears  and  smiles, 
Hearing  afar  the  call  of  ocean — 
They  made  their  way  with  ceaseless  motion, 
Glanced  by  St.  Joseph's  sombre  shore, 
Low  De-la-Crosse,  with  countless  more, 
Till,  where  the  windings  first  unclose, 
The  rushing  Rapids  whitening  rose, 
With  loveliest  isles  in  green  repose 

Amid  their  snowy  foam  ; 
Where,  isle  or  shore,  the  forests  seem 
The  strange  commingling  of  a  dream— 
The  elm,  the  ash,  the  pine  supreme. 
The  willow  bending  to  the  stream,. 
Mixed  with  the  maple's  changeful  gleam, 

And  hemlock's  living  gloom  ; 
While,  slumbering  in  their  dreamy  hue, 
The  distant  mountains  catch  the  view. 
Such  vision  to  the  wanderer's  eyes 
Around  the  world  may  rarely  rise  ! 

VI. 

Again  sweet  Morn  awakes.     The  world 
Yet  sleeps  beneath  her  flag  unfurled, 


162  TECUMSEH. 

And  ere  in  glowing  life  it  shines 
Passed  is  the  sable  Point  of  Pines, 
At  every  stroke  some  fairer  scene 
Appearing,  than  before  had  been, 
Till,  when  all  boundless  falls  the  sheen, 
Where  steep,  high  headlands  frown  apart, 
They  glide,  and — hush  thy  voice,  thy  heart, 
Thou  gazer  !  to  thine  eye  is  given 
The  mirror  of  eternal  heaven  ! 
No  more  they  moved  :  their  being  grew 
A  part  of  that  abiding  view, 
Which,  in  the  moveless  heavens'  embrace 
Seemed  to  absorb  all  time  and  space. 
Stern  guardians  of  the  entrance  wide, 
Like  Titans  rose  on  either  side 
Le  Gros  and  pine-shagged  Iroquois, 
Aye  brooding  o'er  their  gloomy  joys  ; 
Thence  northward,  far  along  the  coast, 
Their  giant  forms  a  mountain  host 
Fraternal  reared,  enrobed  in  blue 

Of  wave  beneath  and  heaven  on  high, 
Till  in  the  distance  lost  to  view, 

Where  melted  lake  and  bending  sky 
Into  each  other ;  westward  stood 
A  kindred  rocky  brotherhood, 
That  stretch  afar,  unmoved  sublime, 
Dim  with  the  shadows  of  all  Time  : 
And,  guarded  thus,  between  them  lay, 
Clear,  limitless,  as  realms  of  day 
Spread  over  them  in  blue  expanse, 
The  waters  in  their  mighty  trance  ; 
While  over  all — the  heavens,  the  height 
Of  the  far  mountains,  and  upon 
Th'  eternal  deep,  the  early  sun 
Flung  the  broad  splendor  of  his  living  light 
Illuming  there  Earth's  purest  heaven-lit  glass, 
Wherein  great  Nature  views  her  glorious  face  ! 


TECUMSEH. 


VII. 


"  On,  Huron,  on  !  I  may  not  loiter, 
Though  heaven  descend  upon  the  water  !" — 
"  My  brother's  words  are  wise,"  replied 
O-wa-o-la,  the  gentle  guide  : — 

Fast  gleamed  the  dipping  oar, 
And  as  they  passed  grim  Iroquois 
Began  the  Huron's  sweet,  low  voice, 

A  stirring  tale  of  yore, 
How,  many  a  waning  moon  agone, 
There  battle's  fearful  light  had  shone, 

And  rang  each  mountain  shore, 
When  on  that  headland's  narrow  base, 
A  thousand  of  the  leagued  race 
Of  Iroquois,  with  Hurons  brave, 
His  valiant  fathers,  conflict  gave 

To  thrice  a  thousand  banded  foes, 

The  sons  of  Tarhe,  joined  with  those 
That  roam  by  Mississippi's  wave. 
From  morn  till  noon,  from  noon  till  night, 
Raged  like  a  fire  the  rolling  fight. 
They  yielded  not :  the  unequal  strife 
But  ended  with  their  ending  life. 
Yet  not  in  vain  ;  with  them  were  slain 
Unnumbered  foes  : — but  these  obtain 
From  living  hands,  where  they  had  died, 
An  honored  burial  side  by  side, 
Those,  those  alas  !  dishonored  grave. 
A  thousand  forms — the  strong,  the  brave — 
Scalpless,  and  rent,  and  red  with  slaughter 
Were  hurled  into  the  deep,  dark  water ; 
And,  gazing  there,  the  Indians  deem 
Their  white  frames  glide  beneath  the  stream. 


164  TECUMSEH. 


VIII. 

And  now  along  the  lonely  shore, 

Where  beat  the  waves  forevermore, 

Like  sounding  ocean,  fast  they  sped. 

Above  the  cloudless  skies  were  spread  ; 

Upon  their  right  the  azure  deep 

Lay  heaving  in  her  sunny  sleep 

Her  boundless  bosom  ;  with  the  haze 

Of  distance  dim,  their  backward  gaze 

Beheld  the  fading  mountains  raise 

But  shadowy  outlines  ;  at  their  side 

The  shore,  that  checked  the  swelling  tide, 

A  few  feet  rose,  while,  far  retreating, 

The  highlands  with  the  heavens  were  meeting. 

And  all  throughout  was  sable  leaf, 

Bereaved  Nature's  constant  grief, 

Which  thus  she  wears  in  solitude, 

Where  none  may  on  that  grief  intrude, 

Mourning  her  children,  by  decay 

Torn  from  her  eyes  each  hour  away  ; 

Though  sweetly  here  and  there  was  seen 

A  ray,  a  glance,  of  brighter  green, 

As  smiles  upon  her  cheek  of  sorrow, 
To  think,  howe'er  may  die  to  day 

Her  offspring  dear,  she  shall  to-morrow 
Of  her  immortal  power  embrace 
As  lovely,  though  as  frail,  a  race. 

IX. 

From  point  to  point  the  waters  o'er 
They  glide,  nor  coast  the  winding  shore, 
Shoot  past  De  L'Isle  and  bold  Batture, 
Thence  quickly  win,  with  course  secure, 
Tequamanon's  dark  stream  of  blood 
And  slow  Obitsis'  ruby  flood, 


TECUMSEH.  165 

And  thence,  nor  that  with  failings  long, 

The  barren  sands  of  Na-ma-cong. 

Nor  stayed  they  yet,  though  from  the  land 

There  beckoned  many  a  dusky  hand 

With  gestures  wild,  but  faster  flew 

With  flashing  oars,  till  past  from  view 

Beyond  the  surge  of  low  Vermillion  ; 

And  when  to  his  wave- washed  pavilion 

The  summer  sun  had  sunk  to  rest, 

And  envious  shades  the  deep  possessed, 

They  urged  their  way,  as  if  in  flight, 

Beneath  the  pale  moon's  beamy  light, 

That,  far  as  eye  their  gleams  could  trace 

Along  illimitable  space, 

Made  every  rising  billow  be 

A  billow  on  a  silver  sea ; 

And  any  gazer  there  might  deem 

Those  voyagers  forms  of  moon-lit  dream, 
Or  two  lone  spirits,  with  their  boat  and  oar, 
Passing  the  deep  that  laves  th'  Eternal  Shore. 

x. 

Brief  sleep  was  theirs.     The  dawning  gray 
Upon  the  vast,  dim  waters  lay, 
And  strange,  mysterious  shades  were  driven 
Between  them  and  o'erbending  heaven, 
As  if,  ere  day  the  night  hath  quelled, 
Their  lone  communings  thus  are  held  : — 
Yet  with  the  shadows'  mighty  sweep 
The  mariners  pressed  along  the  deep, 
Till  desolation  met  their  eyes, 
Where  Sable's  sandy  hills  arise. 
In  wreaths  fantastically  whirled, 
Like  drifted  snows  or  banners  furled, 
The  naked  sands,  to  heaven  upreared, 
Where  nought  of  living  green  appeared 
14 


166  TECUMSEH. 

For  many  a  league ;  the  trees  so  bare, 

That  stirred  not  in  the  breezy  air, 

But  shattered  by  the  tempest's  rage, 

Half  buried  stood  in  withered  age ; 

The  waves,  that  washed  their  thirsty  base. 

Stretched  outward  through  unbounded  space, 

No  other  shore  revealed  to  sight ; 

The  one  bald  eagle  in  his  might, 

That  from  his  blasted  tree  looked  down 

Four  times  a  hundred  feet  upon 

Their  gliding  skiff;  and,  spread  above, 

O'er  all  the  heavens  that  never  move — 

These  formed  a  scene  as  strange  and  rude, 

And  with  as  deep  an  awe  imbued, 

As  ere  was  made  for  solitude. 

As  spied  they  round  no  living  thing, 

Save  one  that  cowered  its  idle  wing  ; 

Nor  heard  a  sound,  except  the  wave 

Slow  heaving  o'er  its  pebbly  pave ; 

Nor  saw  a  moving  form,  beside 

Their  moving  shadows  on  the  tide, 

Their  bosoms  dared  not  throb  aloud — 

They  were  alone — alone  with  God  ! 

XI. 

On,  on  they  fled.     At  last  a  scene 
Rose  lovelier  than  in  dreams  hath  been, 
Where  many  a  mile,  from  wave  to  skies, 
Sublime  the  Pictured  Rocks  arise, 
And  gain  from  years  of  sun  and  storms 
But  added  glories,  brighter  forms. 
Oh  !  idle  all  are  words  to  tell 
How  fair,  as  sunset  on  them  fell  ! 
At  first  a  lower  range  appeared, 
With  gray  breast  o'er  the  waters  reared, 
And  many  a  cave  deep,  dark,  and  rounded, 
Wherein  the  eternal  billows  sounded, 


TEOTTMSTCTT. 

That  with  the  roll  and  thunder-shock 
In  terror  quaked  th'  eternal  rock. 
Thence  towering  rose  they,  cleft  and  veined, 
Until  the  very  clouds  were  gained  ; 
While  on  their  surface,  smooth  or  rent, 
In  thousand  shapes  were  brightly  blent 
The  thousand  hues  of  earth  and  air, 
Through  varied  pictures,  rich  and  rare, 
Structure  and  landscape,  flame  and  smoke 
As  painted  by  the  pencil's  stroke, 
And  forms  which  Fancy  draws  at  will 
With  all  her  fair,  capricious  skill. 

XII. 

Amidst  all  these  so  strangely  given, 

Long  worn  by  waves,  or  seamed  and  riven 

By  time  and  tempest,  from  the  rock 

Stood  forth  all  shapes  the  eye  to  mock. 

Old  fortresses  and  castles  towered, 

Whose  battlements  and  bastions  lowered 

Dilapidated,  desolate, 

Where  Ruin  holds  his  regal  state  ; 

Wide  grottoes,  smoothly  scooped,  far  down 

Beneath  the  lucid  waters  shone  ; 

And,  reared  in  majesty  alone, 

Columnar  rising  from  the  wave, 

Or  sunk  below  with  polished  pave, 

Where  eddies  aye  with  gurgling  sound 

Circle  the  chiselled  shafts  around, 

Were  solemn  temples,  simply  grand, 

Hewn  not  by  any  mortal  hand. 

Hark  !  through  their  ancient  aisles  and  dim, 

And  sounding  nave,  the  choral  hymn 

Goes  up  to  Jove  ! — Nay  !  'tis  the  roar 

Of  waters  rolling  evermore 

Among  the  massy  pillars  there, 

With  anthems  and  the  voice  of  prayer, 


167 


168  TECTTMSEH. 

That,  rising  to  His  far  abode, 

For  ever  fill  the  ear  of  God  ! 

And  still  beside  them,  deep  and  low, 

Pierced  darkly,  whither  none  may  know,. 

Yawn  mighty  caverns,  wherein  go 

The  smothered  billows,  to  and  fro ; 

While  over  all,  in  sullen  frown, 

Huge  precipices  darken  down, 

With  trees  on  all  their  winding  verge, 

Green  waving  o'er  the  foamy  surge. 

Chaos  of  splendors  !     It  would  seem 

As  Nature,  known  in  skill  supreme, 

Had  chosen,  at  some  idle  hour, 

To  mock  vain  man's  mimetic  power, 

And  on  that  solitary  shore, 

Ere  broke  its  wave  the  Indian's  oar, 

Displayed  with  her  almighty  hand 

The  mortal  works  of  every  land, 

And  o'er  the  whole  assemblage  strown, 

Strange  lovely  fancies  all  her  own  '* 

xm. 

What  need  to  speak,  in  lingering  strain, 
Of  all  that  could  a  glance  obtain, 
Each  day,  from  those  who  went  in  haste  ? 
Enough  that  many  an  isle  was  passed, 
Appearing  loveliest  still  the  last, 

Like  eyes  of  Beauty's  daughters  ; 
Enough  that  many  a  gray  rock  rose 
To  guard  the  forest's  wide  repose, 

Far  imaged  on  the  waters  ; 
Enough  that  all  the  shore  along 
Was  heard  the  gush  of  warbled  song, 
That  many  an  aged  tree  was  seen, 
With  shrubs  below  of  softer  green, 
And  thousand  flowers  of  fairest  hue, 
Shone  meekly  in  their  stainless  dew, 


TECUMSEH. 

While  still,  at  morn  or  evening-fall, 
Blue  skies  were  bending  over  all. 

XIV. 

The  eighth-day  morn  had  brightly  broke, 
Since  first  they  plied  the  constant  stroke  : 
An  hour  or  two,  still  climbing  higher, 
Was  risen  the  sun  with  eye  of  fire. 
Beyond  a  wide  bay,  in  the  light, 
A  distant  headland  rose  to  sight : 
So  calm  the  deep  for  this  they  pressed 
Directly  on  with  fearless  breast : 
The  Huron  to  their  oars  kept  chime 
With  legends  of  the  olden  time, 

xv. 

A  league  or  two  had  they  advanced, 
And  softly  yet  the  sunbeams  glanced, 
And  scarce  their  calmly  listening  ear 
The  low-voiced  passing  wind  could  hear  ; 
Yet  shook  the  lake  in  strange  unrest, 
As  if  by  fearful  dreams  possessed, 
And  the  dark  waves,  they  knew  not  why, 
Were  lifting  higher  and  more  high. 
Alarmed,  then,  east,  and  west,  and  north,, 
The  bark-borne  mariners  looked  forth. 
Upon  the  horizon,  scarce  descried 
A  shapeless  something  Moray  spied  : 
"  It  is  no  larger  than  my  hand. 
O-wa-o-la,  can  it  be  land." 
"  No,  brother,  'tis  a  spirit-cloud" 
The  Huron  said,  but  not  aloud  ; 
"  And  if  yon  cape  we  may  not  gain, 
We're  by  the  Tempest  Spirits  slain." 
14* 


170  TECUMSEH. 


XVI. 

No  more  they  said.     Each  nerve  was  strained, 

Another  mile  was  quickly  gained  ; 

But  massy  billows  more  and  more 

Aloft  the  wavering  bark  upbore, 

And  vast  black  columns  slowly  grew 

Up  from  the  deep's  remotest  blue, 

While  red  their  livid  ranks  athwart 

Keen  Lightning's  forked  tongues  would  dart, 

Drinking  the  darkness,  and  anon 

Hoarse  Thunder's  voice  came  rolling  on. 

A  furlong  more — and  suddenly 

The  air  around  them  seemed  to  die. 

They  look.    With  Titan  mien  and  form 

Fast  move  the  spirits  of  the  storm  ; 

And,  with  their  awful  presence  filled, 

All  heaven  and  air  and  earth  are  stilled  ; 

Except,  scarce  audible,  there  creep 

Mysterious  moans  along  the  deep, 

And  th^  huge  billows  crestless  raise 

Their  monster  heads,  as  if  to  gaze 

Upon  those  mighty  shapes — then  cower 

Beneath  each  other  low  and  lower. 

XVII. 

Now  half  a  league  away  uprose 

The  shelvy  coast  with  hanging  brows  ; 

They  turned  and  strove  their  skiff  to  guide 

Lengthwise  across  the  surges  wide. 

The  bark  sprung  buoyant  in  the  strife, 

As  Hope  upon  the  sea  of  life, 

But  wilder  yet  the  waters  grew, 

Though  still  no  breeze  upon  them  blew, 

And  the  grim  clouds  in  squadrons  drew 

Half  round  the  heavens,  while  calmly  shone 


TECUMSEH.  171 

Along  their  lines  the  opposing  sun, 

Upon  their  sable  bosoms  high, 

And  banners,  shadowing  o'er  the  sky, 

Whence,  downward  on  the  waters  cast, 

Strange  lurid  lights  were  darkly  glassed, 

Heaved  with  the  heaving  billows  vast — 

Horrible  splendor  !  and  aloud 

Were  mutterings  heard  from  cloud  to  cloud, 

As  spoke  each  spirit  through  his  shroud — 

Rolled  the  deep  drum,  and  spears  were  driven, 

The  lightning-spears,  through  echoing  heaven. 

A  moment  more — they  hear  behind 

The  deep  voice  of  the  herald  wind — 

Then  swift  steps  on  the  waters — lo  ! 

The  Tempests  breathe  around  them  now 

The  mist  of  their  gray  breath  : 
One  instant  there  the  sunbeams  throw 
Upon  them  Heaven's  own  glorious  bow — 

O  were  it  hope  in  death  ! — 
Then  all  is  night — around  them  tread 
The  elements  of  wrath  and  dread, 
While,  chafed  like  steeds,  beneath  their  feet 
The  foaming  surges  rise  and  meet. 

XVIII. 

The  bark-borne  gazed — with  fiery  trail, 
That  made  the  cheek  of  Darkness  pale, 
Close  by  their  side  descending  steep, 
A  bolt  shot  crashing  to  the  deep. 
The  Huron  dropped  his  bending  oar, 
And  folded  up  his  arms  before. 
"  Manitto  speaks  !"  he  scarce  could  say — 
"  Owaola  is  called  away  !" 
An  instant  shot,  with  quivering  breast, 
The  frightened  bark  from  crest  to  crest — 
A  distant  billow,  black  with  doom, 
Came  combing  through  the  tempest's  gloom  : 


17*2  TECUMSEH. 

"  O  Mary  !  heaven  will  be  our  home  !" — 
"  My  father's  spirit !  lo  I  come  !" 
Last  words  the  Huron,  Moray,  gave, 
As  whelmed  they  sunk  beneath  the  wave. 
Trained,  fearless  swimmers,  light  and  strong, 
With  wave  and  storm  they  struggled  long, 
And  land  was  but  a  furlong's  length, 
When  failed  the  Huron's  youthful  strength  ; 
But  Moray  grasped  him,  as  he  sank, 
And  bore  him  on,  though  thus  he  drank, 
Each  stroke,  himself,  the  boiling  surge  :. 
And  now  their  arms  lay  on  the  verge 
Of  the  smooth  sand,  with  feeble  grasp, 
Convulsive  groan,  and  bubbling  gasp, 
And  now,  by  refluent  waters  torn, 
To  their  deep  burial  were  they  borne, 
When,  rolled  o'er  all,  as  bursts  the  steed 
Through  war's  wide  ranks  with  headlong  speed, 
One  surge  supreme  far  on  the  pebbly  beach 
Hurled  them  aloft  beyond  the  billows'  reach. 

xix. 

Nor  yet  the  tempest-gods  gave  o'er 
Their  revelry  by  lake  and  shore. 
Some  on  the  bald-topped  mountains  stood, 
That  distant  rose  within  the  wood,. 
And  to  each  other  called,  and  flung 
Red  shafts  the  hoary  trees  among  ; 
Others  in  darkness  rushed  abroad 
Upon  the  yielding  deep,  and  trode 
Its  waves  to  madness,  till  between 
The  wide  lake  flashed  with  fearful  sheen  ; 
Or  shouted  all  unto  the  host 
Along  the  northern  mountain-coast, 
That  answering  shouts  as  loudly  gave 
A  hundred  leagues  across  the  wave — 


TECUMSEH.  173 

And  still  those  pallid  ones  all  breathless  slept, 
Nor  heeded  aught  the  tumult  round  them  kept. 

xx. 

But  on  the  Storms  with  fixed  bright  eye 
At  last  looked  forth  the  Deity. 
Before  that  calm  rebuke  they  fled, 
With  mutterings  deep  and  sullen  tread  5 
All  nature  round,  to  light  restored, 
With  smiles,  and  tears,  and  whispered  word, 
And  incense-breath,  her  God  adored  ; 
And  by  the  genial  warmth  revived, 
Again  exhausted  Moray  lived. 
He  moved — he  woke.     Like  lifeless  clay, 
On  the  cold  stones  beside  him  lay 
O-wa-o-la,  the  grateful  guide. 
"Arouse  thee,  boy  !"  he  said,  and  tried 
To  waken  him — but  vainly  took 
The  pale  hand,  which  no  tremor  shook. 
Long  time  he  sat,  and  watched  the  cast 
Of  his  chill  face  ;  but  never  passed 
One  shade  of  change,  nor  ever  came 
One  breath  from  that  unmoving  frame. 
Then  deemed  he  thence  the  life  was  flown, 
And  sighed  the  low  lament  alone. 

XXI. 

"  Last  of  thy  race  !     I  will  not  weep 

This  loss,  the  sorest, 
Though  sweet  the  love,  and  passing  deep, 

To  me  thou  borest ! 
No  !  sleep,  since  all  thy  kindred  sleep, 

Child  of  the  forest  !— 
And  I  will  lay  thee  here,  where  ceaselessly 
To  soothe  thy  rest  blue  waters  murmur  by. 


1T4  TF.OTTMSF.H. 

"  They  were  to  thee  in  life  most  dear, 

Thy  joyance  only — 
Alas  !  they  have  become  thy  bier — 

Though  now  they  moan  thee — 
And  borne  thee  to  thy  burial  here, 

To  lie  how  lonely  ! — 
May  naught  thy  solitary  sleep  molest : 
Heaven  take  thy  gentle  spirit  to  its  rest !" 

XXXII. 

He  started — was  he  not  alone  1 
Was  it  the  Huron's  stifled  groan  ? — 
With  anxious  care  he  bent  o'er  him, 
Wiped  the  cold  brow  and  chafed  each  limb. 
Slowly  returned  the  vital  flush 
O'er  cheek  and  breast,  as  morning's  blush 
Upon  the  pale  and  dewy  sky  ; 
And  then,  at  last,  the  shrouded  eye, 
Like  morning  sun  no  more  concealed, 
Was  in  its  living  depths  revealed. 
His  head  upon  his  hand  he  raised, 
On  all  around  bewildered  gazed — 
Retreating  clouds,  the  foamy  beach, 
And,  far  as  keenest  ken  could  reach, 
Wild  waves,  that  reared  and  plunged  again 
With  dark  broad  breast  and  snowy  main — 
On  Moray  then.     How  met  their  eyes 
In  that  lone  gladness  of  surprise  ! 

XXIII. 

As  looked  he  near  with  closer  view, 
His  shattered  bark  the  Huron  knew. 
A  pensive,  long  survey  he  took, 
Then  thus  in  artless  sorrow  spoke  : 


TECUMSEH.  175 

"  Thou  'rt  wrecked,  my  bark,  in  lonely  place  ! 

O-wa-o-la  in  pleasing  toil 
Endowed  thee  with  too  fragile  grace — 

Thou  liest  the  tempest's  spoil  ! 
I  do  not  know  what  hate  to  thee  it  bore — 
Thou'lt  breast  the  wind  arid  sunny  waves  no  more  ! 

"Ah  !  light  and  bold  wast  thou,  my  bark, 

And  fearless  we  with  billows  played — 
And  now  beside  the  waters  dark 

Alone  must  thou  be  laid  ! 
But  when  I  reach  at  last  the  spirit  shore, 
We'll  breast  the  wind  and  sunny  waves  once  more  !" 

With  broken  oar  a  shallow  grave 
He  made  beyond  the  wasting  wave, 
The  shattered  oars  into  it  threw, 
And  fragments  of  his  light  canoe, 
Heaped  over  them,  with  faltering  hand, 
The  smooth  bright  stones  and  pebbly  sand, 
Then  led  the  way,  in  silent  mood,  , 
Up  through  the  overhanging  wood. 

XXIV. 

The  coast  was  steep  :  from  left  to  right 
Deep  forests  stretched  beyond  the  sight, 
While,  distant  from  their  midst  upreared, 
The  highlands'  shadowy  heights  appeared. 
As  on  they  fared  the  green-wood  through, 
The  landscape  wild  and  wilder  grew, 
With  stream,  and  mound,  and  mossy  stone, 
And  dells  that  ne'er  beheld  the  sun, 
Till  rose  at  last  upon  their  ear 
The  roar  of  falling  waters  near. 
Then  came  they  to  a  deep  ravine, 
Where  many  a  fathom  down  was  seen, 


176  TECUMSEH. 

With  hanging  trees  on  either  side, 
And  toppling  crags,  a  rushing  tide  : 
And,  following  up  its  rock-hewn  course, 
They  saw,  in  all  its  maniac  force, 
The  maddened  stream  leap  wildly  down- 
As  in  th'  inebriate  bowl  to  drown 
The  memory  of  pleasures  flown, 
Lost  by  a  folly  all  its  own — 
Into  the  dark  and  boiling  chasm, 
That  shook  with  a  convulsive  spasm, 
While  rose  the  spray  above,  around, 
With  an  eternal  sun-bow  crowned. 

xxv. 

And  when  their  first  bewildered  view 
Was  cleared  of  that  bedimming  dew, 
What  saw  they,  that  they  started  so1? 
Within  the  cataract's  centre,  lo  ! 
Where  one  small  rock  the  glassy  flood, 
Just  bending  in  its  fatal  mood, 
Might  barely  part,  an  Indian  girl 
Stood  gazing  on  the  dizzy  whirl. 
A  fallen  tree,  as  it  should  seem, 
Had  rudely  bridged  the  rapid  stream 
A  space  above,  but,  from  the  clay, 
When  over  it  her  homeward  way 
Essayed  the  forest's  fearless  daughter, 
Borne  downward  by  the  swollen  water, 
Had  barely,  with  the  clinging  maid, 
Upon  that  tide-worn  rock  been  stayed, 
Half  floating  in  the  current's  flow, 
Half  hanging  o'er  the  abyss  below. 
And  on  that  most  precarious  base, 
With  all  an  Indian  maiden's  grace, 
In  huntress'  garb,  with  ebon  bow, 
And  arrows  hung  her  breast  below, 


TECUMSEH.  177 

Unmoved  she  stood,  and  looked  around, 
If  aught  of  rescue  might  be  found  ; 
Eyeing  at  times,  and  earnestly, 
The  branches  of  a  massive  tree, 
Which,  riven  by  the  lightning's  stroke, 
Remained  with  half  its  strength  unbroke, 
While  half  above  the  gulf  was  hung, 
And  down  those  shattered  branches  flung 
Just  over  and  beyond  the  edge. 
So  rose  she  on  that  lofty  ledge, 
The  thing  of  calmest,  loveliest  mien 
In  all  that  fair  and  fearful  scene — 
Ay,  lovelier,  calmer,  to  the  sight 
Than  e'en  the  Iris,  child  of  light, 
That,  mingled  of  its  changeless  dies, 
Could  so  serenely  there  arise, 
And  watch  her  with  its  radiant  eyes. 

xxvr. 

And  now  a  step  or  two  she  put 
Without  the  ledge  her  beaded  foot, 
And  hung  the  yawning  gorge  above, 
While  with  that  glittering  bow  she  strove 
To  reach  those  branches  in  the  air  : 
Then,  as  the  round  beam  wavered  there, 
She  started  back,  yet  not  in  fear, 
But  calmly  raised  her  hand  to  clear 
The  long  black  tresses  from  her  face, 
And  wondering  gazed  a  moment's  space, 
On  all  the  lovely  scene,  which  seemed — 
The  more  that  death  was  near  her  deemed — 
Fairer  than  aught  she  e'er  had  dreamed, 
And  sweetly  smiled  a  girlish  smile, 
To  see  the  Iris  all  the  while 
So  brightly  there,  yet  not  in  gladness, 
Look  on  the  waters'  eager  madness. 
15 


178  TECUMSEH. 

XXVII. 

But  soon  full  anxious  grew  her  glance, 
As  wandered  through  her  mind,  perchance, 
Some  thoughts  of  parent,  home  and  kin, 
And  throbbed  her  gentle  heart  within. 
Again  beyond  the  dizzy  verge 
She  did  her  faltering  footsteps  urge, 
Again  upraised  her  bow  to  bring 
The  far  boughs  near,  whereon  to  cling  ; 
Again,  as  boat  on  ocean's  swell, 
The  beam,  o'erbalanced,  rose  and  fell. 
The  twigs  were  frail,  nor  could  avail 

Her  utmost  skill  to  draw  them  nigher  ; 
Her  footsteps'  stay  all  tottering  lay, 

She  saw  the  swoln  stream  swelling  higher 
One  moment,  then,  with  earnest  thought 

Viewing  the  green  and  glassy  flood — 

That  o'er  the  rocks,  in  meaning  mood, 

Insanely  bent  to  ruin  there, 
With  smooth  and  fatal  flow — she  caught 

The  conscious  calmness  of  despair. 
With  slow  retreat  she  took  her  seat 

The  bow  around  her  neck  she  hung, 
In  folded  rest  upon  her  breast 

Her  softly  moulded  arms  she  flung ; 
Then,  looking  with  unaltered  mien, 
Upon  the  sunbow's  face  serene, 
Nor  ever  turning  once  aside, 
Except  to  see  the  rising  tide, 
She  did  in  tranquil  paleness  wait 
The  coming  of  her  fearful  fate. 

xxvni. 

But  soon  as,  breaking  from  their  trance, 
She  saw  the  twain  in  haste  advance, 


TECUMSEH.  179 

She  started  up,  with  sun-light  gleams 

Of  joy  illuming  face  and  eye, 
As  when  from  dark  and  fearful  dreams 

One  wakes  to  glad  reality  ; 
Yet  spake  no  anxious  words,  but  slow 
Points  toward  the  boughs  her  ebon  bow. 
She  looked  the  daughter  of  a  chief, 
That  scarce  in  need  would  ask  relief. 
Upon  the  rent  tree  Moray  sprung, 
Crept  down  its  slivered  limbs  among, 
Then,  bending  from  their  shaken  shade 
Above  th'  abyss,  he  caught  the  maid, 

Who  sprung  to  meet  him  there  : 
Swayed  off,  and  by  the  waters  dashed, 
The  rude  bridge  downward  thundering  crashed — 

The  girl  hung  in  the  air — 
But  Moray's  strong  arm  safely  drew 
Such  form  the  rocking  branches  through, 
And  throbbed  his  heart  with  joy  elate, 
When,  loosened  by  the  two-fold  weight, 

The  rocks  fell  down  beneath, 
The  rifted  half-elm,  crackling  loud, 
Into  the  roaring  gulf  was  bowed 

And  drank  the  cataract's  breath, 
By  but  a  single  root  up-stayed. 
"  Go  !  pale-face  !"  cried  the  earnest  maid, 
"  Go,  brother,  ere  it  be  too  late, 
And  leave  the  red  girl  to  her  fate, 

The  fate  she  faced  before  ]" 
But  he,  her  slender  form  embraced, 
Sprung  up  the  tree  with  arrow's  haste, 
Which,  as  he  leaped  upon  the  ground, 

Its  headlong  passage  tore, 
And,  whirling  steeply  round  and  round, 
Fell  with  a  crushing  crash  that  drowned 

The  cataract's  rising  roar, 


180  TECUMSEH. 

And  left  them  on  the  precipice 
Gazing  into  the  wild  abyss. 


XXIX. 


And  Moray's  hand  the  maiden  took 

With  words  less  eloquent  than  her  look. 

"White-man,"  she  said,  "my  sire  hath  taught 

To  scorn,  by  deed,  by  word,  by  thought, 

Thy  race,  by  whom  our  race  have  bled, 

Foes  to  our  living  and  our  dead. 

Yet  is  Omeena's  soul  her  own. 

For  thee,  at  least,  if  thee  alone, 

The  Ottowa's  child  forgets  her  vow  — 

Ah  !  and  for  one  more  pale  than  thou, 

In  this  life  made  almost  a  spirit, 

So  near's  the  life  she  will  inherit  ! 

Will  not  my  brother  go  and  see 

How  fair  a  faded  flower  can  be  V 

She  spoke,  nor  waited  for  reply, 

But  sprung  before  him  joyfully, 

And  tripped  with  airy  steps  along 

Trees,  rills,  and  flowery  banks  among, 

And  sunny  glades  ;  nor  failed  to  pass 

Oft,  as  by  chance,  some  watery  glass, 

Wherein  to  view  her  lovely  face, 

Lest  it  had  lost  some  winning  grace  ; 

Or,  bending  down  upon  the  plain, 

She  would  from  wild-flowers  brush  the  rain, 

And  wreathe  them  in  her  flowing  hair, 

And  shoot  her  arrows  through  the  air, 

Then  laugh,  till  all  the  leaves  around 

Seemed  tremulous  with  the  silvery  sound. 

O-wa-o-la  his  eyes  of  love 

Could  never  from  her  beauty  move  : 

But  Moray  could  nor  see  nor  hear, 

For  at  his  heart  were  hope  and  fear. 


TECUMSEH.  181 

XXX. 

"  She  must  not  see  thee  suddenly, 
Lest — hark  !  it  is  her  voice  you  hear  ; 
I  did  not  think  she  was  so  near  !" 

In  deep  suspense  and  agony 

Stood  Moray  there,  as  wild  and  shrill, 

Or  low  and  sad,  beyond  a  rill 

Concealed  by  foliage,  rose  a  strain 

Which  might  the  passing  wind  enchain. 

"  He  came  and  wooed,  he  staid  and  won — 

His  face,  it  was  so  fair  ! 
And  with  such  soft  and  winning  tone 

He  would  his  love  declare, 

Which  should  through  life,  through  death,  remain — 
Alas  !  he  never  came  again  ! 

For  ah  !  in  war — "  but  here  the  lay 

Died,  like  a  broken  lute's,  away : 

And  then  she  wildly  laughed  till  rung 

The  forest  round,  and  then  she  sung  : 

"  Oh  !  lovely  the  forms  and  the  sounds  of  earth, 

But  lovelier  fill  the  air  ; 
By  day  and  by  night  they  are  hovering  around 

And  they  call  to  me  every  where, 
And  they  say,  '  come  away  !'  " — the  notes  once  more 
Sunk  low  and  tuneless  as  before. 
"  Alas  !"  the  lover  cried,  "what  change 
Has  made  thy  voice  so  sadly  strange  !" — 

And  springing  caught  the  vision  there, 
And  groaning  sunk  upon  his  knee — 
"  It  is  not  she  !  it  is  not  she  ! 

O  God  !  thou  mockest  my  despair  !" 
"  What !  speak'st  thou  of  another  maid  1 
There  was  witli  us,"  Omeena  said, 
15* 


182  TECUMSEH. 

"  Long  since,  most  sorrowful  and  fair, 
Like  this,  a  moon-lit  form  of  air. 
But  she  one  night  was  stolen  away.*' 
No  word  could  heedless  Moray  say  ; 
Yet,  as  he  gazed,  'twas  sad  relief, 
That  she,  so  worn  with  wo  and  grief, 
Was  not  his  own  beloved  one — 
Such  wreck  had  all  his  heart  undone. 

XXXI. 

O  still  earth's  fairest  are  the  frailest, 
Thou  mourner  by  the  tomb  that  wailest ! 
And  whatsoe'er  her  life,  'twas  seen, 
It  left  her  not  what  she  had  been. 
She  had,  Omeena  said,  from  home 
Across  the  great  salt  waters  come, 
And  in  the  western  wilds  was  ta'en 
A  captive,  while  her  kin  were  slain, 
Then  many  a  weary  league  removed 
Where'er  her  restless  captors  roved  ; 
Last,  from  the  Ottowa's  Indian  foes 
Was  rescued  in  the  conflict's  close, 
But  with  a  jarred  and  wandering  mind, 
And  beauty  of  that  fearful  kind, 
That  paleness  all  unmixed  with  bloom, 
Which  is  a  promise  to  the  tomb. 
Save  this,  her  voiceless  history 
Was  writ  in  Mercy's  book  on  high. 

XXXII. 

Heedless  she  sat,  as  from  the  bank 
Her  feet  the  cooling  waters  drank, 
With  dress  arrayed  in  simple  style, 
As  rural  seen  in  Albion's  isle, 
But  rudely  wrought,  without  the  aids 
Which  should  belong  to  gentle  maids  : 


TECUMSEH.  183 

Her  marble  brow  and  bosom  bare 

Shone  coldly  through  her  auburn  hair, 

Which,  all  with  hueless  flowers  entwined 

And  green  leaves,  floated  unconfined ; 

And  oh  !  those  eyes,  once  darkly  blue, 

Were  faded  to  that  milder  hue, 

The  sorrowing  soul's  ethereal  light, 

When,  having  long  with  sufferings  striven, 
It  has  become  allied  to  heaven — 

Yet  wandered  with  uncertain  light, 

As  seeing  forms,  where'er  they  fell, 

To  others'  eyes  invisible. 

Fresh  flowers  she  held,  the  young  and  frail — 

Some  dark,  though  best  she  loved  the  pale — 

Which  she  would  fondly  kiss,  and  pressed 

With  tears  upon  her  faded  breast, 

And  gazed  into  their  eyes  so  near, 

Then  sang,  as  if  they  could  but  hear : 
"Ye  are  children  of  the  earth,  they  say, 

Of  the  earth  and  the  sunny  air, 
But  I  know  ye  are  born  of  the  stars  by  night, 

For  how  can  the  dark  earth  bear 
Such  lovely  and  sinless  things  as  ye, 
That  dwell  in  her  blight  and  misery 

Without  a  tear ! 
"  Ye  are  fair  in  the  forest,  but  fairer  far 

Your  sisters  along  the  Tyne, 
For  the  skies  o'er  them — "  her  restless  eye 
A  moment  fixed  on  vacancy, 
"Ay  !"  murmured  she,  in  dying  strain, 
"He  never — never — came  again  !" 

XXXIII. 

"  Dear  sister,  cease  !"  Omeena  cried, 

And  pressed  the  poor  girl  to  her  side  : 

"  Why  wilt  thou  weep  among  the  flowers  ?" — 

"  Oh  !  for  they  speak  of  happy  hours  ! 


184  TECUMSEH. 

And  youth  was  sweet — and  life  is  vain — 
And  tears  will  ease  my  aching  brain — 
And  flowers  have  nought  to  be  forgiven, 
For  they  have  always  looked  on  heaven !" 
As  Moray  was  descried,  amazed 
She  screamed,  and,  starting  backward,  raised 
Her  hand  above  her  eyes,  and  gazed 
Through  gathering  tears,  with  fearful  shaking, 
As  if,  from  mournful  dreams  awaking, 
From  out  their  scenes,  confounded  all, 
She  strove  some  image  to  recall — 
Then  shook  her  head,  while  sadder  grew 
Her  pale,  thin  face, — then  nearer  drew, 
Gazed  in  his  eyes,  and  through  his  hair 

Her  wasted  fingers  led  : 
"  Thine  eyes  are  dark,  thy  face  is  fair, 

Thy  locks  are  soft," — she  said  : 
"  Thou  look'st  like  him  I  loved  so  well — 
But  he,  I  know  in  battle  fell, 

And  moulders  with  the  dead. 
In  bloody  France  were  thousands  slain — 
And  Moray  never  came  again  !" 
"  'Tis  he  she  means,  and  he  hath  died, 
My  Scottish  kinsman,"  Moray  cried  : 
"A  sword  no  nobler  ever  wore ; 
But  now  his  course  of  glory's  o'er, 
And  here,  and  such,  is  she  he  loved  ! — 
Poor  girl,  the  world  thou'st  sadly  proved  !" — 
"  His  kinsman  thou  ]     Now  blest  be  God  ! 
And  wilt  thou  from  this  gloomy  wood 
Bear  me  away — but  not,  I  pray. 
Where  cold  in  blood  my  parents  lay  t 
But  let  us  to  sweet  England  go  ! — 
And  thou,  beloved  Omeena,  too, 
Thou'lt  dwell  with  us  beside  the  Tyne  : 

Thou  dost  not  know  how  sweetly  blow 
Its  flowers,  how  bright  its  stars  will  shine  !" — 


TECUMSEH.  185 

"Ay  !"  Moray  cried,  and  kissed  her  cold,  wan  brow, 
And  back  with  tears  the  dewy  tresses  parted, 
"  I'll  bear  thee  to  some  rest,  thou  broken-hearted  !" 

xxxiv. 

They  sought  the  hut.     Omeena's  care 

Was  setting  forth  its  frugal  fare, 

Dried  venison,  simple  cakes  of  corn, 

Cool  water  from  the  fountain  borne, 

When  suddenly  within  the  door 

The  Ottowa  stood  that  group  before. 

First  wondering  glared  his  fierce,  black  eye, 

Then  lightened  o'er  its  midnight  sky 

Vindictive  rage  ;  nor  heeded  he, 

Through  wrath,  the  wigwam's  sanctity  : 

"  What !  darest  thou  slay  the  red-man,  then 

Brave  waking  vengeance  in  her  den1? 

Die  !  murderer  of  my  father's  son  !" 

"  To  save  my  life  he  risked  his  own  !" 

Omeena  cried,  and  stayed  in  air 

The  gleaming  knife  between  them  there, 

And  told  the  while,  with  earnest  breath, 

Her  rescue  from  that  fearful  death  : 

"If  this  Oo-loo-ra's  murderer  be, 

Then  let  thy  vengeance  fall  on  me  !" 

The  admiring  chieftain  eyed  his  child, 

To  mark  her  lofty  spirit  smiled, 

Then  Moray  to  the  door- way  led  : 

"  That  hand  by  which  my  brother  bled 

Has  saved  my  daughter  from  the  dead  : 

Revenge  and  Gratitude  are  met. 

But  listen,  pale-face.     Thou  art  yet 

One  of  a  race  we  deem  our  foes, 

While  rolls  the  sun,  or  river  flows  ; 

And  I  am  still  a  foe  to  thee. 

Before  us  mark  that  slender  tree  : 

Soon  as  its  shadow,  through  the  door, 


186  TECUMSEH. 

The  sun  shall  fling  along  the  floor, 
Thou  must  begin  thy  fastest  flight. 
I  stay  :  but  when  his  mid-day  height 
The  sun  hath  reached  again,  my  hate 
Shall  track  thee  with  the  steps  of  Fate." 
He  sat  him  by  the  door  alone, 
And  moveless  watched  the  moving  sun  ; 
Nor  of  the  meaning  glances  knew, 
Omeena  to  the  Huron  threw. 

xxxv. 

"Yes  !"  murmured  she  from  secret  place, 

"  Most  like  it  looks — the  same  fair  face  !" 

And  then  at  Moray's  feet  she  kneeled, 

And  raised  those  eyes,  by  madness  sealed 

With  earth's  most  strange  and  fearful  blight : 

"  My  mother  stood  by  me  last  night ! 

It  was  not,  mangled,  wet  with  blood, 

As  lay  she  in  the  leafy  wood  ; 

It  was  not,  in  a  shroud  so  pale, 

As  sister  sleeps  in  Tyne's  low  vale  ; 

But  oh  !  it  was  a  vision  bright, 

That  seemed  to  shine  by  inward  light, 

Most  beautiful  to  see  ; 
And  through  my  spirit  stole  a  voice, 
That  I  should  weep  not,  but  rejoice, 
For  soon  her  sorrowing  child  should  come 
Unto  the  Father's  heavenly  home, 
'  Where  many  mansions  be.' — 
Lo  !  there,  what  light  the  heavens  doth  rend  ! 
See,  see  those  angel  forms  descend 

From  out  eternity  ! 

Ah  !  when  I  shall  have  passed  the  deep, 
And  with  my  gentle  sister  sleep, 
Will  such  not  come  and  take  my  soul  to  Heaven  ?" 
Tears,  many  tears,  but  no  reply  was  given. 


TECUMSEH.  187 

XXVI. 

The  sun  had  gained  his  noon-tide  tower, 

The  shadow  marked  th'  appointed  hour. 

The  chieftain  rose,  two  polished  bows, 

And  store  of  smooth-wrought  arrows,  chose  : 

"  These  will  obtain  ye  hunter's  food — 

Let  pale-face  make  his  safety  food." 

He  spoke,  and  sped  them  from  the  door. 

The  Huron  set  his  steps  before  ; 

And  fast  their  feet  from  wigwams  rude 

Were  bearing  back  to  solitude, 

And  closed  around  the  darkening  wood, 

When — why  his  course  should  Moray  wheel  ? 

What  could  that  final  glance  reveal  1 — 
He  heard  no  cry — he  saw  her  fall — his  tread, 
Swift  as  the  wind,  but  came  to  find  her  dead  ! 
He  was  her  trust — and  when  on  her  cold  cheek 
One  kiss  he  pressed,  with  lips  that  could  not  speak, 
Then  passed  away,  in  mute  and  chill  surprise 
She  watched,  till  closed  upon  her  aching  eyes, 
O'er  that  last  hope,  the  wildering  forest  wide, 
Then  spoke  no  word — but  all  within  her  died  : 
The  pain,  the  woes,  grief,  dread,  despair  of  years 
Were  crowded  on  her  heart — she  shed  no  tears  : 
That  heart's  last  string  was  broke — she  gave  no  cry, 
But,  ere  she  fell,  her  soul  passed  silently. 
With  folded  hands  across  its  virgin  breast, 
A  lifeless  form  the  bare  earth-threshhold  pressed. 
— She  was  not  changed.     There  was  no  power  in  Death 
To  blight  those  features  more  with  his  chill  breath, 
Than  they  had  been  in  life :  where  Grief  hath  made 
His  dwelling  long,  there  are  no  flowers  to  fade  ; 
And  all  the  difference  in  this  was  shown, 
The  marble  statue  from  its  base  o'erlhrown, 
Save  that  the  frozen  eyes'  more  glassy  light 
Declared  her  reason  now  departed  quite  ! — 


188  TECUMSEH. 

Where  was  the  spirit  flown  1 — Oh  !  who  could  doubt, 
That  saw  her  suffering  all,  yet  murmuring  naught? 
Those  bright  and  heavenly  ones,  she  seemed  to  see, 
Had  borne  it  up,  where  "  many  mansions  be." 

XXXVII. 

They  laid  her  on  a  wicker  bed, 

With  braided  mats  and  wild  skins  spread. 

Then  sat  the  chieftain  by  the  door, 

And  turned  him  towards  the  form  no  more, 

And  yet,  though  none  its  lines  might  trace, 

Grave  sadness  shadowed  o'er  his  face  : 

But  Moray  gazed  upon  her  there, 

So  purely  pale,  so  coldly  fair, 

And  could  not  take  his  eyes  away 

From  Mary  in  that  lifeless  clay  ; 

While,  lovelier  now  by  sorrow's  mien, 

Than  yet  O-wa-o-la  had  seen, 

Who  then  but  felt  her  beauty's  power, 

Omeena,  heedless  of  the  hour, 

With  tears — tears  to  herself  denied 

When  Death  had  marked  her  for  his  bride — 

Poured  forth  a  low  and  ceaseless  wailing, 

Of  mournful  sweetness  most  prevailing. 

XXXVIII. 

THE   LAMENT. 

"  Where  is  the  foam  of  the  waters  1 
White  on  the  golden  sand  it  shone  : 
But  a  wave  from  the  deep  came  dark  and  high — 
I  looked  and  the  foam  was  gone  ! 
It  might  not  linger  ! 

"  Where  is  the  snow-wreath  of  winter  1 
Pure  in  the  forest  depths  it  lay : 
But  the  Great  Spirit  looked  from  the  stormless  heavens, 
And  the  snow-wreath  passed  away 
In  its  own  breathing  ! 


TECUMSEH.  189 

"  Where  is  the  cloudlet  of  Summer  ? 
Palely  it  slept  on  the  sky's  calm  breast : 
But  the  winds  blew  strong  and  the  tempest  rose — 
The  cloud  found  a  darker  rest, 
No  more  returning ! 

"  Lovely  wast  thou*  my  sister, 
Gentle  and  sad  as  the  night's  low  breath ! 
Ah  !  if  thou  hadst  been  less  sweet  and  fair, 
Thou  wouldst  not  have  charmed  cold  Death 
Nor  grieved  Omeena ! 

**  Vain  is  the  voice  of  my  sorrow  ! 
Never  again  to  the  earth  nor  me 
Thy  spirit  returns  from  the  Shadowy  Land  : 
And  with  tears  shall  I  gaze,  like  thee, 
On  stars  and  flowers  ! 

"  Yet  will  I  cease  from  my  mourning, 
Child  of  the  moon-lit  Ocean-foam  ! 
For  a  captive,  and  orphan,  and  lonely  in  wo> 
Manitto  hath  called  thee  home, 
To  meet  the  long- lost ! 

"  Soon  may  I  come  to  thee,  dearest ! 
Sorrow  and  tears  and  the  tomb  are  not  there, 
And  the  flowers  have  no  fading,  the  storm  never  comes, 
And  joy  fills  the  boundless  air. — 

Sleep,  sleep,  thou  dreamless  !" 

xxxix. 

The  broad  sun's  parting  beams  were  shed 
Upon  the  mourning  and  the  dead  : 
Again  was  Moray  speechless  led 
Without  the  door.     "  Thus  much  for  grief," 
More  softly  spoke  the  deep  voiced  chief : 
16 


190  TECUMSEH. 

"  The  pale-flower  many  winds  had  shaken 
She  sleepeth  well  and  will  not  waken. 
But  now  depart :  no  longer  mourn. 
The  Ottowa's  vow  may  not  return. 
Thus  low  the  sun  to-morrow's  night, 
His  feet  will  chase  thy  lingering  flight." 
One  look  to  those  still  features  given, 
One  thought  upon  her  soul  in  Heaven, 
And  heart- wrung  Moray  rushed  away, 
While  closed  behind  Night's  pinions  gray. 


TECUMSEH. 

CANTO  SEVENTH. 


LOVE  rules  the  universal  heart  of  man 
Through  all  its  range  of  age,  rank,  place  and  mood ; 
But  thou,  since  first  in  Heaven  her  reign  began, 
Her  kindliest  offspring  art,  O  Gratitude  ! 
Man's  hard,  stern  heart  grows  soft,  with  thee  imbued, 
And  sweeter  swells  the  fount  of  woman's  love  : — 
O  let  thy  forms  in  dwellings  wild  and  rude 
No  doubt  nor  scorn  in  polished  bosoms  move, 
Since  wheresoe'er  thou  be,  thou  comest  from  above  I 


Again,  as  thence  the  Huron  passed, 
Omeena's  meaning  glance  was  cast, 
Ere  yet  his  face  the  Ottowa  turned  ; 
And  well  O-wa-o-la  discerned 
Her  earnest  wish,  and  throbbed  his  breast, 
Of  her  sweet  confidence  possessed. 
Some  weary  hours  their  way  they  made 
Beneath  the  two-fold  solemn  shade 


192  TECUMSEH. 

Of  night  and  forest,  till  around 
The  high  hills  lay,  with  hemlocks  crowned. 
And  just  upon  the  verge  of  heaven 
The  wan  and  wasted  moon  was  given 
To  their  lone  gaze.     Then,  wooed  and  won, 
Soft  sleep  reposed  with  them.     But  soon 
O-wa-o-la  shook  Moray's  breast 
And  roused  him  from  his  troubled  rest : 
"  Look  !  see  them  stand  on  every  side  !" — 
"Ay,  and  the  Ottowa's  chief  hath  lied  !" 
"  What  shall  we  do  ?"  the  Huron  said, 
With  feigned  surprise  and  whispered  dread  : 
"  Say,  brother — shall  we  rise  and  fight1?" — 
"  'Twere  vain — a  struggle  thus  by  night, 
And  with  such  numbers.     If  we're  ta'en, 
We  can  at  last  be  only  slain." 

n. 

The  Indians  came,  but  nothing  said, 

Bound  fast  their  arms,  then  mutely  led 

A  rapid  course,  by  devious  flights. 

Sometime  they  climbed  the  rocky  heights, 

That  ne'er  a  footstep  might  be  left ; 

Sometimes  along  the  rugged  cleft 

Of  scaly  precipice  would  pass, 

Or  through  the  deep  dell's  dark  morass, 

Or  pebbly  stream,  or  stony  path, 

Where  once  had  swept  a  torrent's  wrath, 

Or  light  along  some  pool-like  lake 

Whose  ripples  o'er  their  steps  might  break— 

The  waning  moon  still  higher  pacing, 

Her  dead  in  faded  arms  embracing. 

But  when  the  Morn  awoke  young  Day, 

The  binding  thongs  they  took  away, 

Yet  onward  roamed  the  solitudes 

Of  mountain,  plain,  or  tangled  woods, 

In  warrior  Indian's  wily  mode, 


TECUMSEH.  193 

Each  treading  where  the  foremost  trode  ; 
And  often,  circling  round  a  place, 
Would  thence  depart  divergent  ways, 
With  backward  steps,  then  softly  tread 
Along  some  streamlet's  sandy  bed, 
For  many  a  rood,  that  every  trace 
The  gliding  waters  might  efface. 

in. 

And  now  another  night  was  past, 
Another  day  departing  fast : — 
"  Look  ! — Did  the  Lynx-eye  nothing  see  "?" 
Exclaimed  the  leader  suddenly, 
And  pointed  to  a  hill-top  high. 
"A  fox,  Ojeeb  !"  was  the  reply. — 
"  Ay — but  an  Ottowa  fox,  I  ween." — 
"  The  Ottowa  would  not  thus  be  seen." — 
"  Well — open  eye  and  hand  prepared 
May  serve  quick  need." — Each  silent  fared 
Along  the  winding  vale  awhile, 
Until  it  grew  a  deep  defile, 
When  springing  forward  suddenly, 
O-wa-o-la,  whose  restless  eye 
Had  each  minutest  thing  espied 
Through  all  the  vale  on  either  side, 
Drew  forth  an  arrow  from  the  ground, 
And  bow  with  bloody  wampum  bound  : 
"  A  warning  hand  hath  placed  them  here. 
Death  in  the  dell  is  lurking  near !" 

IV. 

No  word  was  said.     With  boundings  light, 
They  scaled  the  hill-side  gained  the  height, 
And  far  along  had  urged  their  flight, 
And  fast  were  fleeing — wildly  rose 
The  angry  yell  of  baffled  foes — 
The  death-bolts  flew — like  thunder  cloud, 
16* 


194  TECUMSEH. 

There  burst  the  dark  dell's  fringy  shroud. 
With  steps  of  storm  and  shoutings  loud, 
Ken-hat-ta-wa,  his  eyes  on  fire, 
With  warriors  wild  in  war's  attire. 
Despite  their  wiles  and  cautious  haste, 
He  had  each  devious  winding  traced, 
With  skill,  which  nothing  could  delude, 
And  feet  as  swift,  as  e'er  pursued 
Hates  flying  victim  clearly  viewed. 


v. 


Both  who  pursued  and  who  would  flee 
Sprung  each  behind  rock,  mound,  or  tree. 
The  wily  strife  began  amain — 
These,  seeking  safe  their  boats  to  gain, 
That  lay  beside  the  just  seen  lake, 
Those,  baffled  guile's  revenge  to  slake. 
From  rock  to  rock,  with  ceaseless  sound, 
From  tree  to  tree,  from  mound  to  mound, 
The  whistling  shot  were  sped  around, 

The  flinted  arrows  flew  ; 
Whoop  answered  whoop,  and  yell  to  yell, 
As  here  or  there  one  leaped  and  fell, 
And  wildly  echoed  hill  and  dell 

The  affrighted  forest  through  : 
The  living  fight — defied — defying — 
In  death  the  fallen  taunt  the  dying. 

VI. 

And. now  by  short  and  sudden  flights, 
Like  low  morass's  glancing  lights, 
Was  won  with  loss  their  perilous  way, 
Till  but  a  rugged  hill-side  lay 
Between  them  and  the  welcome  lake. 
At  signal  given,  like  deer  they  break 
From  coverts  each,  and  headlong  rush 
Down  over  rock,  and  brier,  and  bush  ; 


TECUMSEH.  195 

Follows  the  yell  of  mad  surprise, 
And  leaden  hail  around  them  flies, 
And  clouds  of  arrows  cleave  the  skies, 
And  those  who  fall,  no  more  to  rise, 

Of  them  that  fly  before, 
Are  heeded  not — the  dead  must  find 
Their  own  revenge — with  steps  of  wind 
The  angry  tempest  sweeps  behind, 

And  thunders  to  the  shore. 

VII. 

There  close  around  each  floating  bark 
More  deadly  grew  the  strife,  and  dark. 
"  Revenge  !"  the  maddened  Ottowas  cry. 
"  Revenge  !"  the  rocky  woods  reply. 
The  sand  and  slippery  stones  among 
The  war-club's  fearful  weight  was  swung, 
Deep,  deeper  in  the  rocking  tide 
The  hatchet's  fatal  edge  was  plied, 
While,  where  they  strove  the  waves  beneath, 
The  sharp  knife  found  a  shuddering  sheath, 
Till,  rising  from  that  mutual  slaughter, 
Their  corses  floated  o'er  the  water, 
Whose  grasp  of  hate  no  shock  might  sever, 
Locked  in  that  last  embrace  for  ever. 
Wild  was  the  fury— long  the  fray  ; 
And  when  at  last  was  borne  away 

One  bark  with  Moray's  life, 
Ken-hat-ta-wa's  yell  of  phrenzy  rose, 
And  faster  showered  his  stormy  blows,. 

And  fiercer  closed  the  strife, 
For  flight  or  chase  the  boat  to  gain, 
That  floated  still  among  the  slain — 

With  rage  the  air  was  rife — 
The  rocky  shores  and  rended  sky 
Echoed  with  whoop  and  battle-cry, 


196  TECUMSEH. 

Grew  black  each  brow,  and  blazed  each  eye, 
And  reeking  low  or  flashing  high 
Were  steely  axe  and  knife  : — 
The  golden  sand  lay  drunk  and  red 
Beneath  the  dying  and  the  dead. 
At  length  the  wounded  few,  o'erborne — 
When  first  some  stealthy  foot  had  torn 
The  sheathing  of  their  frail  canoe — 
Dove  through  the  wave,  nor  rose  to  view, 
To  yield  their  watchful  foes  a  mark, 
Till  safe  within  the  rescued  bark. 

VIII. 

In  haste  the  Ottowas  launched,  and  plied 
Swift  oars  of  vengeance  o'er  the  tide  ; 
But  soon  their  rent  and  sinking  boat 
Left  them  upon  the  wave  afloat. 
With  angry  whoops  and  splashing  hand, 
They  turned  and  struggled  towards  the  land, 
While  loud  their  foes'  exulting  laughter 
Above  their  heads  came  pealing  after. 
Oh  !  quickly  changed  to  maddened  cries 
Triumphant  scorn,  as  saw  their  eyes 
The  Ottowas,  o'er  the  watery  swells, 
With  busy  grasp  and  fiendish  yells, 
Scalp  the  cold  corses  on  the  billows — 
As  tossed  they  with  their  tossing  pillows— 
And  wave  the  ghastly  trophies  high, 
And  gash,  what  could  no  farther  die  ! 

IX. 

The  strife  is  o'er.     As  on  they  sweep 
Through  twilight  shades  along  the  deep, 
They  see  from  off  the  bloody  strand, 
Amid  his  baffled,  shattered  band, 
Ken-hat-ta-wa  shake  his  gory  hand  ; 


TECUMSEH.  197 

But  who  upon  that  summit  high — 
So  softly  limned  against  the  sky, 
That  sheds  a  purer  azure  there — 
A  sunset  cloud,  a  form  of  air, 

Waves  them  a  green  branch  o'er  the  water] 
By  form  ard  garb  and  ebon  bow, 
You  should  a  youthful  hunter  know  ; 
But  by  those  chiselled  features  fair, 
That  swelling  breast  and  floating  hai*, 

She  looks  a  chieftain's  daughter. 


The  chieftain  saw  that  form  of  grace, 

And  sabler  lowered  his  stormy  face. 

He  bounded  up  with  fiery  leap, 

And  stood  before  her  on  the  steep. 

"  What  art  thou  ?"  broke  he,  stern  and  high, 

While  glared  his  dark,  dilated  eye. 

"  A  chieftain's  child"  she  answering  raised 

An  eye  as  proud,  and  firmly  gazed. 

"  A  chieftain's  child  ? — a  captive's  scorn  ! 

Base  maid !  thou  art  not  Indian  born  ! 

Some  pale-face  did  thy  vileness  rear ! 

By  thee  the  Ottowa's  oath's  a  jeer  : 

By  thee  have  met  in  Death's  embrace 

Thy  mother's  and  thy  father's  race, 

From  which  may  grow  a  ceaseless  strife-^ 

And  all  to  save  a  pale-doj's  life, 

Whose  race  the  red-men  doom  to  slaughter. 

A  traitress  thou — the  Ottowa's  daughter  1 

What  hinders,  that  I  should  not  hurl 

Thee  down  to  death,  degenerate  girl  1" 

xt 

She  led  him  to  the  utmost  verge  : 

"  Look  !   deep  and  dark  their  course  they  urge  ! 


198  TECUMSEH. 

Look ! — let  my  sire  to  such  a  grave 
Commit  in  wrath  the  life  he  gave  ; 
But  let  his  child  dishonor  not 
His  name  by  benefits  forgot. 
If  pale-face  and  a  foeman  he, 
Yet  I  will  not  an  ingrate  be. 
Worst  traitor  to  the  red-man's  cause 
Is  he,  who  breaks  the  red-man's  laws  : 
And  how  shall  not  our  hearts  be  free  1 
Manitto,  judge  'twixt  me  and  thee  !" — 
"  But  knew'st  thou  not,  thy  father  might 
Sink,  girl,  amid  the  certain  fight  ? 
What  if  Ken-hat-ta-wa  were  slain  ? — 
Oh  !  thus  thou  wouldst  all  license  gain  ! 
Thus  o'er  the  tribe  of  Pontiac  reign !" 
A  shade  subdued  the  maiden's  eye, 
And  tremulous  was  her  reply  : 
"  Nay,  father  !• — On  her  mother's  tomb, 
And  thine,  Omeena's  flowers  should  bloom 
And  she  would  weep  and  long  lament, 
Yet  ne'er  her  gratitude  repent. 
Of  Pontiac's  race,  Omeena's  mind 
May  change  not  with  the  changing  wind." 
"  Thou  hast  thy  father's  soul,  my  child," 
Returned  the  admiring  chief,  more  mild  : 
"Thou  hast  but  done  as  I  would  do. 
But  hear  me,  girl. — There  is  a  foe, 
My  hatred  more,  my  wrath,  my  scorn, 
Than  all  the  pale-faced  cowards  born  : 
And  if  thy  girlish  love  to  him 
Thou  give,  I'll  tear  thee  limb  from  limb, 
And  to  the  waves  and  winds  of  heaven 
Thy  yet  warm  ashes  shall  be  given  ; 
Nor  shall  Tecumseh  live  to  mourn 
The  grace,  that  never  may  return  !" 


TECUMSEH.  199 


XII. 

The  twilight  deepened.     Well  they  knew, 
That  birchen  vessel's  wily  crew, 
In  any  place,  by  day  or  night, 
To  land  would  but  renew  the  fight ; 
So  must  they  boldly  push,  perforce, 
Across  the  lake  their  rapid  course. 
But  ne'er  the  deep  was  calmer  seen, 
Nor  heaven  of  more  unruffled  mien  : 
Skiffs  live,  when  sleep  the  ocean  waves — 
They  wake,  and  strong  ships  find  their  graves. 
— The  twilight  deepens  :  but  the  skies 
Still  show  some  soft  celestial  dies, 

Where  the  departing  day  hath  set ; 
As,  when  have  fallen  the  shades  of  death, 
Unto  the  eye  of  sorrowing  Faith 
The  confines  of  two  worlds  are  given, 
Bright  with  the  glorious  hues  of  Heaven, 

Where  Time  Eternity  hath  met: 
And  just  above  the  darkening  west, 
Pale  Dian  lifts  her  faded  crest, 
That  all  the  day  her  path  serene 
Hath  trod  content  to  be  unseen, 
And  now,  like  some  fair  victim  of  decay, 
Hovers  above  her  grave  with  sad,  sweet  ray. 

xnl. 

Along  the  winding  coast  awhile 
They  swept  their  course  with  easy  toil, 
And  down  Keweena's  shadowy  shore 
Whereon  its  western  waters  roar, 
Then  sped  them  fearless,  far  and  free, 
Forth  on  that  wide  and  silent  sea. 
Soon  land  was  lost,  nor  aught  around, 
Save  dimness,  could  the  distance  bound  ; 
Vanished  the  glory  of  the  day, 


200  TECUMSEH. 

And  heaven  grew  pale  ;  the  distant  wave 
Received  the  meek  moon  to  her  grave  : 
But  soon  with  more  prevailing  ray 
The  stars  come  forth  ;  a  deeper  blue 
Doth  all  their  silent  courts  imbue. 

xiv. 

The  stars  came  forth.     Upon  his  throne 
Each  watched  his  realm  prescribed,  alone, 
With  calm  and  changeless  countenance ; 
And  from  their  gaze,  o'er  all  th'  expanse 
Of  waters,  like  a  mighty  spell, 
A  strange  and  awful  stillness  fell. 
All  was  the  deep  repose  of  thought  J 
No  sound  the  ear  of  listener  caught ; 
The  waves  were  hushed  ;  the  calm,  pure  air 
Awoke  no  creeping  ripple  there — 
Just  stirred,  all  infinite  and  lone, 
Like  breathings  of  the  world  unknown. 
So  still — above — around — beneath — 
All  might  have  seemed  the  reign  of  Death, 
But  that  with  an  unfailing  light 
The  stars'  immortal  brows  were  bright, 
And  with  their  glorious  presence  made 
That  solemn,  that  mysterious  shade, 
O'er  sky,  earth,  air,  and  waters  given, 
A  spiritual  life.     All  heaven 
Came  down  upon  the  deep,  and,  glassed 
In  its  unruffled  mirror  vast, 
Swelled  far  below,  as  boundless,  clear, 
Into  another  hemisphere, 
And  with  as  bright  a  firmament 
Around  its  dim  horizon  bent, 
Whence  upward  gazed  its  host  of  stars 
Upon  those  moving  mariners. 
As  when  the  parted  soul  doth  stray 
From  Earth  beyond  the  solar  way, 


TECUMSEH.  201 

Till  in  the  deepening  distance  far 

The  sphered  sun  becomes  a  star, 

The  circling  vastness,  awed  and  stilled, 

All,  all  with  countless  orbs  is  filled, 

And,  whereso'er  that  spirit  turns, 

One  wide  immortal  radiance  burns  : 

So  moved  they,  hung  two  heavens  between, 

Whose  crowded  worlds  on  worlds  were  seen, 

Where'er  they  gazed,  in  awe  profound, 

The  bright  circumference  around. 

Amazed  they  moved,  all  sounds  forbore, 

Save  the  light  dipping  of  the  oar, 

And  scarce  their  hearts  dare  beat  to  tell 

Their  spirits  yet  within  them  dwell  ; 

For,  as  they  glide,  the  Indian  deems 

He  passeth  to  the  Land  of  Dreams, 
While  to  his  consciousness  wrapt  Moray  seems 
Drifting,  O  where  !  o'er  being's  boundless  sea, 
Unknown,  unmeasured,  dread  Eternity. 

xv. 

Day  dawned  on  starlight.     At  one  stride 
Rushed  up  the  sun,  and  waters  wide 
Burned  red  beneath  his  level  ray, 
And  yet  they  only  half  their  way 
Across  that  mighty  lake  had  won. 
All  day  they  toiled  :  but  when  the  sun 
Was  sinking  in  the  deep  again, 
Afar  uprose  a  rocky  chain 
Of  mountain  coast,  to  north  and  east 
Stretched  darkly  in  eternal  rest, 
With  shadowy  heights,  grotesque  and  wild, 
Crag  over  crag  enormous  piled 
A  thousand  feet  above  the  wave, 
Dell,  forest,  precipice,  and  cave, 
And  ruined  ridges  rudely  hurled, 
The  barriers  of  the  watery  world, 
17 


202  TECUMSEH. 

When  rolled  the  deluge-wrath  of  Heaven 
And  earth's  foundation-rocks  were  riven. 
But  veering  to  the  west  they  ran, 
And  landed  ere  the  heights  began, 
Where,  bathed  in  sunset,  low  and  green, 
A  hundred  little  isles  were  seen — 
Drew  high  their  bark — then  by  its  side 
Wooed  welcome  slumber,  long  denied  : 
The  still,  near  waters  all  night  long 
Murmured  a  low  and  quiet  song. 

XVI. 

Ere  shuts  her  eye  the  morning  star, 
They  wend  upon  their  journey  far  ; 
But  lingers  not  the  Muse  to  tell 
Their  windings  all  by  deep  and  dell. 
Suffice,  at  times  they  bear  their  bark 
Aloft  through  woody  portage  dark  ; 
At  times  their  quick  oars  lightly  break 
The  blue  of  some  pellucid  lake, 
Where  seldom  aught  one  trembling  brings, 
One  motion's  evanescent  rings, 
Except  the  wild-bird's  glancing  wings  ; 
And  all  around  them,  low  and  high, 
The  gush  of  living  melody 
Is  heard,  and  every  turn  displays 
Some  fresher  beauty,  fairer  grace, 
Low  shores  that  wind  with  pebbly  pave, 
Where  willows  droop  upon  the  wave, 
Or,  steeper  built,  with  wild-vines  hung, 
And  briers,  their  ruined  clefts  among, 
Sweet  shaded  vales,  and  many  a  stream, 
Whose  banks  the  Indian  well  might  deem 
Would  Fairies  haunt  by  moonlight  gleam, 
Dells,  thickets  green,  and  ridges  gray 
Where  scarce  the  hunted  deer  would  stray 


TECUMSEH. 

And  over  all,  huge  forests  hoar, 
Waving  their  old  arms  evermore. 

XVII. 

The  third  day  saw  their  gliding  forms 
In  silence  coast  the  Lake  of  Storms, 
Whose  shores  had  given  a  kindred  race 
An  immemorial  dwelling-place. 
The  dusky  warriors  thronged  at  view 
With  rudest  welcome's  wild  haloo, 
And  hasted,  in  their  wigwams  near, 
To  spread  their  feast  of  choicest  cheer. 
Sincere  their  joy  ] — Go,  haply  born 
To  polished  pride,  enlightened  scorn, 
And  taught  at  Nature's  gifts  to  sneer — 
Go — search  the  world  around,  where'er 
Man  dwells,  from  Afric's  solar  glow 
To  Hecla's  flame  or  Zembla's  snow, 
And  thence  where  swarthy  tribes  behold 
The  Arctic's  frozen  mountains  rolled, 
And  thou  shalt  find  the  tear  and  smile, 
That  fears  alarm,  that  hopes  beguile, 
And  that  a  thousand  fountains  start 
In  each,  as  any,  human  heart. 

XVIII. 

Meantime  was  nothing  asked  or  said, 

Or  in  their  guarded  features  read, 

Concerning  Moray  ;  from  each  eye 

Was  banished  curiosity, 

Though  it  the  while  but  stronger  burned, 

Within  each  silent  breast  inurned. 

Gravely  the  chieftain  circle  round, 

The  pipe  was  passed,  with  pause  profound  ; 

Then  briefly  did  Ojeeb  declare 

The  reason  of  their  presence  there. 


204  TECUMSEH. 

Rose  fierce  debate.     Some  urged  their  vow, 

No  more  to  spare  the  pale-faced  foe  ; 

Then  how  the  welcome  hand  bestow  1 

No  !  let  him  fall  before  their  eyes, 

Great  A-re-ous-ki's  sacrifice  ! 

Others,  that  none  may  vainly  come 

For  refuge  to  the  red-man's  home. 

— With  wrinkled  brows,  where  public  care 

Sat  like  a  hermit  gray,  and  hair 

Made  white  and  thin  by  ninety  snows, 

The  sachem  Nidi  VVyan  rose, 

And  bade,  while  reverently  they  hear, 

The  stranger  to  his  eyes  appear. 

XIX. 

"  Pale-face"  he  said,  approaching  near, 

With  accents  tremulous  but  clear  : — 

"  The  great  lake  heard  the  conflict  high ; 

Its  waves  are  blood,  and  many  lie 

Too  low  to  rise  ;  their  deathless  minds 

Are  floating  on  the  sighing  winds. 

But  thou  art  here. — We  welcome  thee. — 

Thou  wouldst  return. — It  may  not  be. 

Sweet  is  the  voice  of  brooks  that  flow 

Around  our  father's  home  ;  but  know, 

Ken-hat-ta-wa  with  all  his  train 

Will  watch  for  thee  by  lake  and  plain  ; 

And  many  a  tribe  would  gladly  win 

His  powerful  peace  by  blood  of  thine. 

Nay,  more.     The  red-man's  race  have  sworn 

Their  glory  past  no  more  to  mourn, 

But  rise  united  now,  and  sweep 

The  pale-face  to  one  lasting  sleep. 

Then  whither  couldst  thou  flee,  and  meet 

No  foeman's  quick  avenging  feet  ] 

But  listen.     Vainly  Wyan  calls, 

When  morning  wakes  or  evening  falls  : 


TECUMSEH.  205 


Nor  sons  nor  kin  on  earth  remain 
To  answer  him — he  calls  in  vain  ! 
And  Nidi  groweth  old  apace. 
Soon  faileth,  in  the  bounding  chase, 
His  foot  to  track  the  wolf  and  roe, 
His  hand  in  war  to  strike  the  foe. 
Thy  foot  is  fleet — thy  hand  is  strong — 
Thy  years  to  be  are  bright  and  long. 
Thou — thou  shalt  be  his  son  instead, 
Nor  harm  from  any  foeman  dread  ; 
And  how  beloved  and  honored  he, 
Who  Nidi  VVyan's  son  shall  be  !" 
To  slight  such  care  or  seek  to  fly 
Well  Moray  knew  would  be  to  die  ; 
And  soon  became,  with  simple  forms, 
A  chieftain  by  the  Lake  of  Storms. 


'Twere  long  to  tell  the  weariness 
Of  every  day's  unnamed  distress, 
Of  doubts,  fears,  memories,  that  brought 
Eternity  of  aching  thought ; 
And,  worse  than  all  to  Sorrow's  eye, 
That  ocean  of  uncertainty, 
Which  hath  no  ebb,  no  flow,  no  zone, 
Dark,  boundless,  fathomless,  unknown. 
And  yet  his  varied  life  might  well, 
Could  aught,  such  weariness  dispel. 
As  lustful  Summer  passed  away, 
And  hale  old  Autumn,  changing  gray, 
Came  slowly  on,  that  aged  one, 
Who  deeply  loved  his  stranger  son, 
He  left  at  last,  and  followed  far, 
With  hunters,  towards  the  northern  star 
The  ceaseless  chase  ;  or  sought,  with  care 
Of  cunning  skill,  to  trap  and  snare 
17* 


206  TECUMSEH. 

The  soft-furred,  harmless  things,  that  make 
Their  dwellings  fast  by  stream  and  lake. 
The  Huron  ever  by  his  side, 
Whose  care  a  brother's  love  supplied, 
Wild  was  the  world  he  roamed,  and  strange, 
Through  all  the  red-man's  mighty  range — 
From  that  broad  Mirror  of  the  Woods, 
That  o'er  its  own  dark  spirit  broods 
Like  weird  enchanter's  shadowy  glass, 
On,  where  the  As-sin-i-boines  harass 
The  roving  deer  by  Moose's  tide, 
And  Man-i-to-ba's  waters  wide 
Hear  spirit  sounds  at  stilly  noon 
Or  underneath  the  hanging  moon  ; 
And  thence,  where  Winepeek's  broad  breast 
Lay  filled  with  heaven's  unclouded  rest ; 
And,  past  blue  Bourbon's  haunted  sleep, 
Where,  in  the  chase  or  battle's  sweep, 
Wild  Knisteneaux  undaunted  brave 
The  Sas-ka-tchaw-an's  gelid  wave. 

XXI. 

Through  all  this  region  roaming  round, 
Where'er  their  game  the  Indians  found, 
A  thousand  plains  he  traversed  o'er, 
No  white  man's  foot  had  trod  before  ; 
A  thousand  wandering  streams  he  crossed, 
That  seemed  in  depth  of  forests  lost ; 
A  thousand  lonely  lakes  surveyed, 
That  ne'er  before  their  face  displayed 
To  other  than  the  Indian's  gaze, 
Or  wending  elk's  through  trackless  maze  ; 
And  from  a  thousand  mountains  high 
Viewed  the  wide  woods  and  smoky  sky. 
But  still,  where'er  he  bent  his  eyes, 
One  form  with  every  scene  would  rise  ; 


TECUMSEH.  207 

O'er  every  plain  he  saw  it  near, 
As  forms  in  reveries  appear  ; 
From  every  glassy  lake  'twas  shown, 
How  sadly  fair  !  beside  his  own  ; 
In  every  streamlet's  murmuring  noise 
He  heard  but  Mary's  gentle  voice  ; 
On  every  mountain's  height  he  stood, 
And,  turning,  o'er  the  boundless  wood 
Through  unimaginable  space 
Beheld  afar  her  faded  face  ! 

XXII. 

And  when  from  out  the  icy  north 
Stern  Winter  stretched  his  sceptre  forth — 
When  lake  and  stream  were  fettered  fast, 
And  througli  the  hollow  woods  the  blast 
Moaned  fitfully  a  dirge,  and  loud, 
Above  the  dead  year  in  his  shroud, 
Around  their  wigwam  fires  the  while 
Strange  tales  were  told,  that  might  beguile 
The  long  nights — such  as  haunt  their  minds 
Ever,  as  do  the  clouds  and  winds 
The  troubled  bosom  of  the  deep  : — 
How  dark-haired  Fairies  revels  keep, 
With  braided  dance  in  endless  maze, 
Beneath  the  pale  moon's  tranquil  blaze — 
How  men  to  fishes,  beasts  and  birds 
Have  oft  been  changed — what  fearful  words 
Been  heard,  of  most  mysterious  power, 
In  the  deep  woods  at  midnight  hour — 
What  shapes  enrobed  in  clouds  appear 
Where  high  the  Sable  Hills  uprear 
Their  stormy  brows — what  glories  blaze. 
Dazzling  the  eyes  that  dare  to  gaze, 
The  Shining  Mountains  round,  which  hold 
Uncounted  stores  of  pearl  and  gold, 


TECUMSEH. 

While  past  their  heights,  in  light  excelling, 
The  God  of  Thunders  hath  his  dwelling; — 
And  how  in  vast  Superior  stands 
The  glittering  Isle  of  Golden  sands, 
Whose  treasures,  idly  splendid  there, 
To  take  or  touch  no  hand  may  dare, 
For  gilded  serpents  watch  unsleeping, 
And,  'neath  the  waves  dark  vigils  keeping, 
A  spirit,  like  a  thunder  cloud, 
Dilated  strides  with  threatenings  loud. 
All  these  with  not  incurious  ear, 
So  sitting  by,  he  could  but  hear  ; 
Yet  still,  oh  !  still,  his  soul  would  stray 
To  one  loved  form — away — away. 

XXIII. 

Vanished  the  snows.     A  deadly  feud, 

Which  had  for  untold  years  imbrued 

The  Chippewas  and  fiery  Sioux 

In  ceaseless,  wasting  slaughter,  grew 

Yet  deeper  now,  by  hunters  slain 

And  left  upon  the  frozen  plain. 

They  had  forsworn  all  mutual  strife, 

But  Indian  law  was — life  for  life; 

And  by  that  rage  on  W  abash  shore 

The  far-linked  league  was  now  no  more. 

Joined  with  their  kindred  of  the  lake, 

A  swift  and  silent  course  they  make, 

Till  now  at  dawn  the  foe  are  spied 

By  Mississippi's  earlier  tide, 

Ere  swells  and  sweeps  his  kingly  pride. 

The  whoop  was  given — the  forests  rung — 

Like  panthers  on  their  foes  they  sprung ; 

Not  unprepared,  the  fearless  Sioux 

With  answering  yells  to  meet  them  flew. — 

Fierce  was  the  strife ;  but  ere  that  Earth 

Took  many  of  her  savage  birth 


TECUMSEH.  209 

Back  to  her  breast,  from  out  the  wood 
A  plumed  and  chieftain  warrior  strode. 
Ere  yet  an  instant  was  he  seen, 
He  rushed  their  mingling  ranks  between. 
"  Stay — stay  your  frantic  strife  !"  he  cried 
With  voice  of  thunder — "  stay  !"  replied 
The  echoing  hills  ;  and  at  the  sight, 
And  at  the  voice,  they  stayed  the  fight, 
And  stood,  as  if  to  earth  they  grew, 
For  all  the  great  Tecumseh  knew. 
Then  thus  upon  the  deep  suspense 
Broke  forth  his  fiery  eloquence. 

XXIV. 

"  Great  chieftains  ! — warriors  ! — ye  that  roam 

Far  towards  Wakondah's  shining  home  ! — 

Ye  from  the  lake  of  Mighty  Waters  ! — 

What  means  this  madness  1 — Why  in  slaughters 

So  ceaseless  on  each  other  prey, 

While  war  and  wasting,  day  by  day, 

The  stranger  and  the  pale-face  wage 

Upon  your  fathers'  heritage  1 

Have  ye  so  soon  forgotten  both 

Tecumseh's  words  and  your  oxvn  oath  1 

Then  let  him  ask  ye  yet  once  more — 

Know  ye  not,  knew  ye  not  before, 

That  ye  are  brethren  born  1  that  ye, 

That  red-men  wheresoe'er  they  be, 

Are  offspring  all  of  one  Great  Spirit? 

That  of  his  gift  ye  do  inherit 

These  mountains,  streams  on  every  hand, 

Lakes,  forests — all  this  goodly  land, 

Whate'er  the  setting  sun  surveys  1 

Lo  !  what  are  now  departed  days  1 — 

Remembrance  ! — What  the  red-man's  glory  1 — 

It,  like  the  past,  but  lives  in  story  ! — 

And  why  ] — Because  the  pale- face  comes 


210  TECUMSEH. 

Among  the  red-man's  happy  homes. 

His  hands  are  large,  his  tongue  is  small; 

He  asks  a  little,  grasps  at  all. 

His  deadly  rifle  daily  sounds 

In  our  ancestral  hunting-grounds  : 

His  axe,  his  flaming  brand,  intrudes 

Upon  our  forest  solitudes  : 

His  great  boats  from  our  waters  scare 

The  fish,  that  'scape  his  greedy  snare. 

Nay,  more.     His  plough  our  graves  hath  riven  ; 

Our  fathers'  bones,  upturned,  are  given 

To  all  the  winds  and  rains  of  heaven  ! 

xxv. 

"  O  red-men  !  shall  our  souls  endure 
Such  wrongs,  unheeding  and  secure  ] 
Say,  shall  our  fathers'  spirits  mourn, 
That  such  by  us,  their  sons,  are  borne  ? 
No — let  the  hatchet  and  the  knife 
Drink  up  the  white-man's  guilty  life  ! 
My  people,  many  tribes,  have  said, 
The  great  deep  rivers  shall  be  red 
With  his  cold  blood.     But  still  we  are 
Too  few  to  move  so  great  a  war. 
We  ask  your  help.     Are  ye  dismayed, 
That  in  their  madness  some  are  laid 
By  Wabash  banks  ? — If  all  unite 
Our  whoop  arid  war-path  shrill  affright 
The  foe's  pale  hearts.— Or  deem  ye,  here 
Ye  have  but  distant  cause  to  fear 
Invasion  of  your  rights  1 — Away 
With  such  delusion,  while  ye  may 
Unforced  by  ruin.     On  the  shore 
That  hears  the  great  salt  billows  roar, 
And  sees  the  sun  rise  from  the  past, 
Not  many  winters  since,  harassed, 


TECUMSEH.  211 

And  cold  and  lone,  the  white-man  stepped. 

Lo  !  welcomed,  warmed,  they  now  have  crept, 

These  hearth-thawed,  poisonous,  cherished  snakes, 

By  river,  mountain,  plain  and  lakes  ; 

They  've  left  in  every  flowery  vale, 

By  every  spring,  their  slimy  trail ; 

Until  they  rear  their  pallid  crests, 

And  build  their  swarming  noisome  nests, 

By  Erie  and  by  Huron's  side 

And  Mississippi's  turbid  tide  ! 

No  !  vain  your  hope.     We  swept  away, 

Yourselves  will  fall  an  easy  prey. 

XXVI. 

"  Brothers — 'tis  ours  to  crush  them  all 

And  leave  not  one  to  mourn  their  fall : 

For  our  great  father  o'er  the  deep 

Is  angry  with  this  race,  that  creep 

Into  our  homes ;  and  he  hath  sent 

Men — arms — a  mighty  armament, 

To  aid  us. — Hark  !  From  yonder  cloud 

The  God  of  Thunders  speaks  aloud. 

He — He  is  angry  with  the  foe  ! 

He  will  unto  the  battle  go  ! 

Brothers — this  belt  of  wampum  drank 

Blood  where  in  death  our  brethren  sank. 

*  Revenge  !'  I  hear  their  spirits  cry. 

Who  draws  this  gory  war-belt  nigh  ? — 

Who  lingereth  back,  his  name  shall  be 

A  vile,  unhonored  memory, 

And  o'er  his  recreant  grave,  when  dead, 

The  white-man's  spurning  foot  shall  tread  !" 


He  ceased.     His  burning  words  had  caught 
Chords  deeper  than  the  fiery  thought 


212  TECUMSEH. 

Of  mutual  wrongs,  and  crowding  round, 

Though  still  their  brows  with  conflict  frowned, 

Each  grasped  the  battle's  crimson  token, 

By  each  the  fearful  oath  was  spoken, 

Upon  the  stranger's  blood  to  tread, 

Till  fall  the  stars,  the  sun  be  dead. 

But  wherefore  stands  he  still  and  stern, 

Nor  takes  the  oath  when  comes  his  turn, 

Nor  with  their  kindled  fury  warms — 

That  chieftain  from  the  Lake  of  Storms  1 

On  Moray  every  gaze  was  fixed, 

Of  rising  rage  and  wonder  mixed  ; 

For  Indians  deem  it  deepest  sharne, 

When,  whatsoe'er  his  race  or  name, 

The  once-adopted  fails  to  stand 

Fast  with  his  tribe  in  heart  and  hand. 

Each  Chippewa  in  tawny  face 

Burned  livid,  like  a  furnace  blaze  ; 

A  silent  triumph,  shrined  with  scorn, 

Was  on  the  Sioux'  wild  features  born  ; 

While  glared  Tecumseh's  glowing  eye 

With  meaning,  fierce  intensity, 

And  ev'n  the  Huron  turned  away, 

Ashamed  of  that  so  strange  delay. 

Yet  moves  he  not ;  his  manly  brow 

And  eye  his  firm  resolves  avow. 

How  shall  he  raise  the  hand  so  base, 

Against  his  country,  name  and  race? 

A  moment  more,  and  nought  might  save 

The  recreant  from  a  recreant's  grave  ; 

But  Nidi-Wyan,  who  had  come, 

The  old,  the  wise,  so  far  from  home, 

Once  more  their  councils  to  inspire, 

Discerned  with  fear  the  rising  fire. 

He  rose  and  led  him,  unrestrained, 

Till,  past  the  view,  a  height  was  gained, 


TECUMSEH.  213 

That,  steeply  reared  within  the  wood, 
O'erlooked  from  high  the  rushing  flood. 

XXVIII. 

Then  paused  the  chief,  but  nothing  spake, 

Lest  uncontrolled  his  grief  should  break. 

The  waters  glided  far  below, 

The  wind  was  soft  as  lover's  vow, 

Green  leaves  were  opening,  one  by  one, 

And  slowly  rose  the  regal  sun. 

"  The  adopted  pale-faced  brave  is  young," 

At  last  he  said  with  faltering  tongue  ; 

"  Lives  yet  a  sire  his  love  to  claim  ?" — 

"  My  father's  blessing  with  me  came." — 

"  And  could  the  old  man  yet  rejoice 

To  hear  the  low  wind,  and  the  voice 

Of  running  waters  ?  Was  his  eye 

Made  glad  to  look  upon  the  sky, 
The  green  trees,  and  the  rising  sun?" 

"  My  father  had  not  yet  begun 

To  be  o'erborne  with  weight  of  years," 

Said  Moray,  and  with  gathering  tears, 

As  rose  his  aged  sire  to  mind. 

"  Return,  my  son,  that  still  the  wind, 

The  streams,  the  trees,  the  sun's  glad  light, 

May  soothe  his  ear  and  joy  his  sight ! 

To  Nidi  Wyan's  spirit  now 

They  vainly  shine,  they  vainly  flow. 

Soon  will  his  joyless  days  be  o'er — 

And  all  his  race  are  gone  before  ! 

A  withered  tree  will  press  the  plain, 

To  whom  nor  roots  nor  boughs  remain. 

No  son  will  rise  to  call  him  blest, 

And  lay  him  in  our  mother's  rest ! 

Yet  go — and  tell  that  aged  one, 

The  red-chief  made  thee  once  his  son  : 

18 


214  TECUMSEH. 

And  let  thy  children's  children  learn, 
At  rising  morn  and  Spring's  return, 
The  name  of  Nidi-Wyan.— Go  : 
The  red-men  deem  thee  now  their  foe. 
But  though  the  red-foot  track  thy  flight, 
Manitto's  are  the  day  and  night." 
In  sadness  Moray  passed  ;  the  chief 
Returned,  and  after  silence  brief 
Arose  th'  admiring  throng  before  : — 
"  He  is  a  Chippewa  no  more. 
Let  none  pursue  him.     In  his  stead 
Will  Nidi  to  the  battle  lead." 

XXIX. 

Between  Superior's  southern  coast 

And,  dimly  reared,  her  mountain  host, 

Filled  with  the  heavens  and  balmy  air, 

Reposed  a  vale  as  soft  and  fair, 

As  e'er  beguiled  the  hastening  stream 

To  linger  in  unconscious  dream, 

Or  made  the  arrowy  sunbeams  play 

With  shadows  all  an  April  day. 

Once,  rising  all  its  windings  o'er, 

Low  shrubs  and  lofty  trees  it  bore, 

But,  by  the  tortuous  whirlwind  swept, 

Mid  silent  woods  now  greenly  slept, 

So  lonely  in  its  slumber  there, 

It  seemed  a  spirit's  haunt  of  prayer. — 

No  youth  were  there  to  urge  sweet  wooing. 

What  were  the  mirthful  maidens  doing  7 

— Their  heads  with  leaves  and  blossoms  crowned, 

In  twinkling  change  around  and  round, 

About  their  gathered  boughs  and  flowers, 

As  lightly  as  the  Elves  and  Hours, 

Orneena  and  her  maidens  sing 

With  welcomes  blithe,  the  present  Spring. 


TECTJMSEH.  216 

XXX. 
THE    VERNAL    HYMN. 

SEMI-CHORUS  I. 

*"N'ya  !  thou  comest ! 

We  see  thy  presence  here 

Relume  the  faded  year  : 

But  where  was  thy  bough-rocked  birth, 

Thou  joy  of  the  desolate  earth  ! 

Grim  winter  was  scared  at  thy  smile, 

He  hath  fled  to  his  ice-caverned  isle. 
Stormy  and  cold  is  his  dungeon  there, 
Darkly  he  lies  in  his  frozen  despair  : 
Thou  brightly  aloft  on  thy  dew-dropping  pinions 
Art  journeying  over  his  joyless  dominions, 
And  the  earth  looks  as  fresh,  with  her  sons  and  her  daughters, 
As  when  first  she  rose  green  on  the  face  of  the  waters ! 

N'  ya !  we  greet  thee. 

See,  see,  how  the  flowers  are  springing, 
And  to  them  how  the  wild  birds  are  singing ! 
Look,  look,  how  the  waters  do  tremblingly  haste, 
To  be  on  the  lake's  sunny  bosom  embraced  ! 
Wherever  thou  smil'st  there's  a  turning 
Of  beauty  to  beauty  with  yearning, 
And  all  things  have  a  look  as  a  lover  may  have — 
Ah  !  wouldst  thou  but  smile  on  the  hearts  of  the  brave  !" 

SEMI-CHORUS  II. 

N'ya !  thou  comest, 
O  child  of  the  light  and  the  air  ! 
Thou  wast  born  in  the  sun-braided  west, 
On  the  summer-lake  isles  of  the  blest, 
And  thy  presence  is  every  where  ! 
The  earth  beneath 
Hath  felt  thy  breath— 

*Chippewa  exclamation,  equivalent  to  "  Lo  !"  or  "  Behold!" 


210  TECUMSEH. 

She  arouseth  her  soul  from  the  torpors  of  Death, 
As  a  serpent  may, 
And  casteth  away, 

For  a  glorious  garment,  her  robe  of  decay, 
And  rejoicing,  in  beauty  the  while, 
Reneweth  her  manifold  toil  ! 

N'y£  !  we  greet  thee  '. 
The  Wekolis  sings  to  his  love 
tn  the  shades  of  the  whispering  grove, 
And  the  Miscodeed  blushes  alone  in  the  dell 
Where  the  Spirit-bird  warbles  so  passingly  well, 
And  wherever  thou  breathest  are  born, 
At  eve  or  the  dew-weeping  morn, 
Such  sighs  as  the  lips  of  a  lover  may  have — 
Ah  !  wouldst  thou  but  breathe  on  the  heart,  of  the  brave  ! 

CHORUS. 

The  Moon  of  Plants  is  brightly  past — 

Green,  greener  grow  the  woods  ! 
The  moon  of  Flowers  is  come  at  last — 

Bright,  brighter  glance  the  floods  ! — 
We  know  thy  viewless  wings  have  fanned 
The  brightness  of  the  Spirit-land  : 
We  hear  thy  voice — O  speak  and  tell 
Of  those,  the  loved,  the  mourned  so  well ! 
Did  they  or  thought  or  message  send 
To  kindred  dear  or  grieving  friend  7 
And  is  their  being  wrapped  in  bliss  1 — 
O  tell  us,  Spirit,  tell  us  this  ! — 
Hark,  sisters,  from  the  Dreamy  Shore 
The  whispered  voice — to  mourn  no  more, 
For  there  immortally  they  move 
Through  boundless  light  and  changeless  love. 
Return,  O  breathing  air,  return, 
And  say,  not  many  moons  shall  burn 

Their  wasting  fires  away, 
Before,  as  birds,  our  sorrowing  minds 
Shall  float  upon  the  voiceful  winds 


TECUMSEH.  217 

To  them  and  tearless  day  ! — 
N'y&  !  N'ya  !  we  hail  again, 
Soul  of  the  world,  thy  joyous  reign  !" 

XXXI. 

While  they  thus  plied  their  beating  feet 

To  notes  most  musical  and  sweet, 

So  stealing  on  the  silence  there 

They  might  almost  create  an  ear 

To  listless  space,  Omeena's  eye 

Caught  gleaming  through  the  green-wood  nigh, 
That  clothed  the  adverse  steep,  a  gaze, 
Which  startled  her.     In  careless  phrase 

She  said  to  her  companions  by, 

'Twas  meet  among  the  flowers  to  have 

Some  gathered  from  the  pale-one's  grave  ; 

Then,  with  a  secret  sign  and  look, 

A  sauntering,  lonely  course  she  took 

Along  the  vale  and  near  the  brook, 

Soon  standing  in  the  smiles  of  day 

With  Moray  and  O-wa-o-la, 

Beside  the  resting-place  of  her, 

Earth's  poor  heart-broken  wanderer. 

No  word  they  spoke,  but  bowed  each  head 

In  sorrow  o'er  the  early  dead. 

XXXII. 

It  was  a  place  for  such  a  sleep 
Most  sweet — a  gently  rising  steep, 
Whose  fallen  trees,  decayed  and  gone, 
Left  it  unshadowed,  green  and  lone, 
Whereon  the  beams  that  brightly  fell 
Seemed  with  a  silent  joy  to  dwell. 
The  grave — 'twas  but  a  lowly  mound 
Scarce  known  from  other  earth  around,. 
Save  by  a  simple  stone  or  two, 
O'er  which  had  just  begun  to  grow 
18* 


218  TECUMSEH. 

The  soft  brown  moss  ;  around,  between, 
The  velvet  grass  was  braiding  green, 
And  near  full  many  a  flower  was  set, 
The  wilding-rose  and  violet, 
That,  drooping  with  their  tears  of  dew, 
Their  sad  and  gentle  birth-place  knew. 
And  thus,  in  that  most  lone  decay, 
She  slept,  a  thousand  leagues  away 
From  the  green  island  of  her  birth, 
That  one  beloved  spot  on  earth, 
To  which  her  fondest  heart  had  turned 
With  life-consuming  thoughts,  that  burned 
Too  deep,  till,  spent  their  fuel  frail, 
Were  left  but  ashes  cold  and  pale. 
Peace  to  them  !     Calmly  there  they  slept, 
As  if  above  them  had  been  wept 
The  tears  of  kindred,  though  arose 
Dark  mountains,  lay  in  dread  repose 
Wide  woods,  and  rolled  the  ocean  waves 
Between  them  and  her  kindred's  graves. 
What  matter  where  our  dust  to  dust  be  given  1 
O'er  all  the  earth  there  bendeth  one  bright  Heaven 

XXXIII. 

"Why  weeps  my  brother  for  the  lost, 

Whose  spirit  now  no  more  is  crossed  T' 

A  low  voice  broke  the  silence  long  : — 

"  Thou  hear'st  glad  birds  renew  their  song, 

Thou  see'st  the  young  leaves  greet  the  spring : 

But  never  would  Orneena  bring 

Back  to  its  wo,  if  by  a  word, 

The  withered  leaf,  the  weary  bird  ! — 

Bui  wherefore  is  the  pale-face  here  1" 

She  said,  and  brushed  the  swelling  tear. — 

"  I  know  not  why.     It  is  in  vain 

I  traverse  forest,  lake,  and  plain  ; 

Vainly  Omeena  tracked,  unseen, 

Through  woods,  and  hills,  and  marshes  green, 


TECUMSEH. 

Her  sire,  where'er  his  feet  pursued 
My  life,  since  never  yet  is  viewed 
Her  face,  for  which  alone  that  life 
Is  worth  with  pain  one  moment's  strife." 

xxxiv. 

"  Rememberest  thou,"  the  maid  exclaimed, 
"  Last  year  another  captive  named, 
Lovely  and  pale,  by  sadness  bowed  1 
Omeena  loved  the  summer  cloud. 
One  morn  she  missed  its  form  of  light, 
Borne  from  us  by  the  winds  of  night. 
In  vain  my  father's  search  :  no  more 
Was  she  beheld  by  lake  or  shore. 
But  runners,  since  the  moon's  return, 
Whose  feet  to  distant  tribes  were  borne 
To  bind  the  league  of  battle,  tell, 
That,  where  the  Mis-sis-sa-gues  dwell, 
Beyond  the  great  lake's  eastern  side, 
And  near  the  mountains  high,  they  spied 
A  pale-faced  maiden,  guarded  there, 
While  one — her  lover  deemed — should  bear 
Rich  presents  to  the  tribes  afar, 
From  white-men  with  your  race  at  war. 
She  shall  not  be  such  lover's  bride  ! 
Ojeeb  will  be  thy  faithful  guide  : 
Described  so  sorrowful  and  meek, 
She  can  but  be  the  maid  you  seek." — 
"  Ah  !  mock  me  not ! — but  if  it  be, 
O  God  !  how  hast  thou  pitied  me  !" — 
Omeena  paused  in  earnest  thought, 
Then  spake  :  "  My  brother's  path  is  fraught 
With  fear  and  death  on  every  side  ; 
For  ambushed  War  is  watching  wide. 
Thou  see'st  this  wreathed  and  shining  shell ; 
'Twas  found,  where  ocean  billows  swell, 
Long  moons  ago.     The  Shawnee  brave, 
Tecumseh,  to  Omeena  gave 


220  TECUMSEH. 

This  shell,  the  pledge  of  memory. 
Take  it— and  let  the  eagle's  eye 
But  mark  it,  when  thou  dread'st  the  knife — 
Then  tell  him  of  my  rescued  life — 
And  thou,  though  of  the  Ocean  Foam, 
Shall  fall  not  in  the  red-man's  home." 
She  pulled  some  flowers  from  off  the  grave, 
Made  with  her  hand  a  parting  wave, 
Then  lingered  not  till  lost  to  view. 
The  Huron  watched  her  as  she  flew  : — 
What  thoughts,  which  he  would  ne'er  impart, 
Were  burning  in  his  youthful  heart? 
But  Moray  laid  one  wild-rose  in  his  breast, 
Then  turned  forever  from  the  wanderer's  rest. 

xxxv. 

'Twas  evening.     On  the  heights,  that  breast 

Superior  rolling  from  the  west, 

Their  splintered  peaks  and  ridges  gray, 

Were  glorious  with  departing  day  ; 

But  eastward  far  their  shadows  fell, 

Broad-cast,  o'er  valley,  stream  and  dell. 

At  entrance  of  a  wide  ravine, 

Beneath  that  deepening  shade,  were  seen 

Some  scattered  huts  of  simplest  form, 

Light  poles  with  skins,  to  shed  the  storm, 

Encompassed  cone-like  :  slowly  wreathed, 

From  each  the  still  blue  smoke  was  breathed. 

No  warrior's  manly  form  appeared, 

For  they  loud  Battle's  whoop  had  heard  : 

But  oft  the  dusky  black-eyed  maid 

Glanced  round  the  wigwams  light,  and  played 

Lithe  children  in  the  twilight  shade, 

With  their  brown  faces — mid  their  noise 

Oft  hushed  by  shrill  maternal  voice  : 

Save  such  and  eve's  low  breath,  no  sound 

Heard  the  high  forests  stretched  around. 


TECUMSEH.  221 

Beside  the  hut,  that  nearest  stood 
Before  that  wild  glen's  darkening  wood, 
One  maiden  sat,  not  like  the  rest, 
But  worn,  and  pale,  and  thought-opprest, 
Even  as  the  lonely  snow-wreath  lies 
Beneath  rude  March's  changeful  skies. 
Ah  !  if  in  her  thou  dost  behold 
The  maid  whose  wanderings  are  untold, 
Think  not,  thou  gazer,  such  a  change 
Came  but  by  sufferings  long  and  strange  ! 
How  wan  was  she,  how  worn  with  care, 
But  oh  !  most  spiritually  fair  ; 
And  on  that  face  the  utter  grief, 
Stamped  like  November's  hopeless  leaf, 
Changed  never — to  its  wo  resigned, 
The  shadow  of  the  inward  mind, 
To  which,  long  desolate,  was  given 
No  hope,  except  the  grave  and  Heaven.. 

xxxvi. 

She  saw  the  mountains  gilded  yet — 

But  dark  their  shadows  round  her  met ; 

She  gazed  upon  the  far,  bright  years — 

Their  shades  were  on  her  soul,  and  tears 

Filled  her  fair  eyes,  when  suddenly 

An  Indian  from  the  glen  drew  nigh. 

She  started  not — familiar  grown 

With  all  the  forms  to  terror  known. 

With  careless  step  he  passed  the  maid,. 

Upon  her  shoulder  lightly  laid, 

Of  birchen  bark,  a  plaited  fold. 

Surprised  she  looked — the  scroll  unrolled — 

And  saw — O  God !  what  magic  name, 

That  such  a  change  upon  her  came  ? 

She  started  up — the  blood  rushed  high — 

And  all  her  soul  was  in  her  eye  : — 

"  Speak  !  speak  !  O  tell !"— "  Hush  !  be  not  heard  : 

The  pale-face  seeks  the  captive  bird. 


222  TECUMSEH. 

A  moment  wait — then  rise,  and  thread 
The  winding  dell."     With  noiseless  tread, 
Ojeeb  then  passed  the  wigwam  door 
And  sat  the  wrinkled  hag  before, 
Who,  as  she  dressed  her  food,  would  rise 
And  watch  the  maid  with  scowling  eyes. 
"  Ec-quish  is  good  ;  she  watches  well" — 
Thus  flatteringly  his  accents  fell : 
— «» Does  pale-face  chief  forget  her  care  1 
Ojeeb  brings  presents  rich  and  rare" 
He  said,  and  to  her  gaze  displayed, 
With  pauses  long  between,  bright  braid, 
Of  many  colored  wampum  wrought, 
Ribands  of  all  the  hues  of  thought 
And  various  things  of  gayer  sheen 
Than  e'er  her  woman  eyes  had  seen  : 
Ec-quish  amid  her  joy  could  find 
No  thought  for  cares  to  her  resigned. 
Meantime  all  tremblingly  the  maid 
Far  up  the  rugged  glen  had  strayed  ; 
She  saw  no  one — she  stopped  in  fear — 
"  My  Mary  !"  cried  a  low  voice  near, 
And  into  Moray's  folding  arms  she  sank, 
His  lips,  his  eyes,  her  bursting  heart-drops  drank. 
The  grief,  fear,  suffering,  despair  of  years, 
Were  lost  in  those  brief  words,  those  burning  tears 

XXXVII. 

Soon  came  Ojeeb  with  hurried  tread  : 

"  Squaw  loves  to  see  bright  things,"  he  said  : 

"  Now  let  our  steps  go  swiftly,  while 

Old  Ec-quish  talk  to  them  and  smile." 

With  speedy  hands  the  girl  they  laid 

On  leafy  litter,  rudely  made, 

And  bore  her  through  the  woods  along, 

Rocks,  streams,  and  shaggy  dells  among, 

All  underneath  the  breathing  night, 


TECUMSEH.  223 

Dim  brooding1,  and  the  solemn  light 
Of  the  cold  stars  : — the  Huron's  eyes 
Guarded  the  rear  from  all  surprise. 
The  morning  broke — they  heard  the  roar 
Of  mighty  waters — then  the  shore 
Of  the  vast  lake,  to  left  and  right 
Stretched  far,  with  many  a  frowning  height 
Girding  her  beauty,  while  to  west 
Heaved  boundlessly  her  shadowy  breast : 
And  down  a  thousand  feet  below 
They  saw  the  billows  come  and  go. 
Then  turned  they  south — at  silent  noon 
Launched  forth  their  secret  bark — and  soon 
Were  bearing  down  St.  Mary's  stream. 
Wrapt  in  their  all-unheeding  dream, 
Unto  the  twain  beloved,  that  hour, 
There  was  nor  fear,  nor  care,  nor  power 
Of  past  or  future,  nor  recall 
To  the  void  earth,  but,  all  in  all, 
One  moveless  present,  wherein  whirled 

The  change  no  more  of  time,  nor  place, 
Nor  their  own  minds  : — they  were  the  world, 

And,  folded  in  their  half  embrace, 

Sat  gazing  on  each  other's  face, 
Their  souls  away.     But  restlessly 
O-wa-o-la  with  anxious  eye 
Watched  either  shore.     "Row  ! — faster  row  !" 
He  cried  with  voice  alarmed  but  low  : 
"  Haste  !  haste,  Ojeeb — we  are  pursued  !" 
With  yell  and  bound,  burst  through  the  wood 
Seven  savage  forms,  with  one  that  bore 
The  white-man's  garb,  and  from  the  shore 
Thrust  forth  a  boat,  and,  with  their  might, 
In  swift  rage  chased  the  startled  flight. 


224  TECUMSEH. 

XXXVIII. 

"  De  Vere  !— O  fiend  !"  the  lover  cried, 

And  with  the  strength  of  phrenzy  plied 

The  bending  oar.     Fast,  fast  they  flew, 

But  faster  yet  the  savage  crew 

Pursued,  with  gestures  fiercely  flung, 

And  whoops  wherewith  the  wild  shores  rung  ; 

While  in  the  bow  De  Vere  stood  high 

And  urged  them  on,  as  they  drew  nigh, 

With  shout,  and  oath,  and  threatening  cry  : 

But  ne'er  her  gaze  of  hopeless  love 

From  Moray  would  the  maiden  move  ; — - 

Her  heart's  deep  springs  grew  deeper  there 

In  stillness  of  her  pale  despair. 

So  swept  the  chase — and  now  they  hear 

The  roar  of  broken  waters  near. — 

No  pause  ! — Pursued,  pursuers  urge 

Yet  near  and  nearer  yet  the  verge 

Of  the  loud  Rapids — there  they  are  ! 

Breaking  in  madness  wide  and  far — 

The  wild— the  fearful !     "  On— press  on  ! 

Shrieked  Moray—"  Back,  thou  Belial's  son  ! 

By  all  that's  holy,  back,  thou  wretch !" 

"  Fool !"  yelled  De  Vere.—"  Fast,  faster  stretch 

Your  oars,  brave  warriors  ! — Fool,  give  o'er" — 

His  words  were  drowned  amid  the  roar 

Of  the  torn  waters,  wildly  tost, 

Like  sea-gull  in  the  tempest  lost, 

The  bark  shot  down  through  surge  and  foam, 

And  spray,  and  isles  of  forest  gloom, 

And  breakers,  o'er  the  dark  rocks  borne 

All  white  with  terror  !     No  return 

Might  there  be  made — down,  down  they  gleamed, 

And  hoarser,  whiter,  faster  streamed 

The  maniac  Rapids,  and  arose 

O'er  all  the  war-whoop  of  their  foes, 


TECUMSEH.  225 

Now  near  above.     In  agony 

The  lover  raised  his  rifle  high— 

The  bullet  sped — with  bound  and  yell 

An  Indian  on  the  surges  fell, 

But  not  De  Vere — a  hidden  rock 

The  frail  boat  struck,  with  deadly  shock 

That  whelmed  its  wreck — the  pale,  fair  girl, 

Borne  down  amid  the  foam  and  whirl, 

Was  the  last  thing  his  eyes  beheld, 

The  savage  whoop,  in  triumph  yelled, 
Was  the  last  sound  he  heard,  as  eye  and  ear, 
Swept  dark  beneath,  no  more  might  see  nor  hear. 

xxxix. 

He  woke — where  was  he  ? — who  were  they 
That  round  him  stood  in  war's  array  1 — 
In  British  armour  Britons  brave, 
And  high  their  fort  gleamed  o'er  the  wave. 
He  saw  De  Vere — one  flash  of  thought 
Back  to  his  mind  too  clearly  brought 
That  last  wild  moment.     "  Where,"  he  cried, 
"  Is  she  who  should  have  been  my  bride  ]" 
"  The  waters  had  a  love  for  her  !" 
Was  the  reply. — "  Thou  murderer  ! 
One  moment  were  my  hands  unbound, 
Thy  blood  should  dye  this  beaten  ground  ! — 
Thus  perished  1 — O  thou  heart  of  steel, 
Eternity  shall  make  thee  feel  !"— 
"  Wert  thou  unbound  ! — By  Wabash  tide, 
Methinks  thy  skill  was  freely  tried  ! 
And  for  eternity— I'll  wait 
With  little  care  such  fancied  fate. 
Thou  art,  'tis  true,  raised  from  the  dead — 
But  thou  shalt  try  a  dungeon's  bed  ; 
And  if  more  cold  the  maiden  lie, 
Thou'lt  thank  thine  own  temerity  !" 
19 


TECUMSEH. 

Then  to  the  officer  De  Vere 
Declared  by  oath  and  Indians  near, 
This  Moray  had,  by  threats  and  bribes, 
Long  tampered  with  the  British  tribes 
Beyond  Superior,  even  afar 
By  waves  beneath  the  northern  star. — 
"  'Tie  false  ! — Yet  ah  !  since  she  is  gone, 
All  now  is  naught,  endured  or  done  : 
What  matter  where  I  mourn  the  while, 
Tn  lonely  wilds  or  fortressed  isle  1" 


TECUMSEH 


CANTO  EIGHTH. 


DEAR  native  land  !  if  in  my  secret  soul 
The  thoughts  that  rise  in  solitude  to  thee 
All  times,  all  hours,  I  do,  with  strong  control, 
Press  back  into  my  bosom,  there  to  be, 
With  my  own  joys  and  griefs  and  misery, 
Unuttered  mid  the  vain  and  noisy  crowd, 
Thou  wilt  absolve  me,  since  not  always  he 
Hath  holiest  heart,  whose  worship  is  most  loud, 
And  that  is  purest  prayer,  where  one  alone  is  bowed/' 

Dear  native  land  !  my  unregarded  lay 
May  pass  to  silence  as  an  idle  one, 
Like  that  frail  fly,  as  Grecian  fables  say, 
Born  with  the  gleamings  of  the  light  begun, 
And  coldly  dying  when  the  day  is  done  : 
But  thou  hast  names  that  rise  to  Glory's  eye, 
Like  the  far  mountains  to  the  burning  sun, 
Or  when  he  goes,  or  when  his  car  draws  nigh, 
Still  standing  there  the  same,  eternal,  lone  and  high  ! 


228  TECUMSEH. 

And  of  the  names  that  unto  thee  belong, 
For  ever  changeless  in  thy  light  to  be, 
Few  weave  them  brighter  in  th'  heroic  song, 
Than  his,  whose  youth  was  by  the  rolling  sea, 
Whose  joy  was  in  its  blue  immensity, 
Whose  hopes  of  glory,  born  from  out  the  wave, 
And  dearest  thoughts,  were  linked  with  thine  and  thee  : 
Vainly  may  rancorous  hands  in  Perry's  grave 
The  coffined  ashes  rake,  whose  name  all  time  shall  save 


The  wandering  moon,  that  never  stays,   - 
Howe'er  on  heavenly  paths  she  tires, 
Had  thrice  relumed  her  faded  fires, 
And,  with  her  ever  tranquil  gaze, 
Beheld  through  all  the  western  clime 
But  war  and  rapine,  blood  and  crime, 
And  broken  hearts  and  blazing  dwelling, 
Vain  man  his  fellow  mortal  quelling  : 
But,  prisoner  held  by  martial  law, 
On  wave-washed,  lonely  Macinaw, 
No  part  could  Moray  act  or  see. 
Nor  yet,  in  sooth,  he  cared  to  be 
Aught  else  than  such  ;  for  what  to  him 
Was  glaring  day,  or  presence  dim 
Of  solemn  night,  or  loudest  strife, 
With  clash  of  arms,  and  groaning  life 
Reft  from  the  images  of  God — 
Or  aught  in  mortal  days,  that  trode 
Each  other's  heels,  since  joy  was  fled 
With  her,  now  deemed  the  cold  and  dead  ! 


But  never  can  the  mind  be  taught 
To  dwell  alone  with  torturing  Thought, 
Nor  bondage  suit  the  noble-souled  ; 
And  startling,  busy  Rumor  told 


TECUMSEH.  229 

Of  conflicts  fierce — that  louder  rung 

War's  clarion  ocean  shores  along, 

And  that  on  all  the  wide  frontier 

Tecumseh's  gatherings  far  and  near 

Raged  like  a  whirlwind.     Thus,  at  length, 

To  Moray  came  in  all  its  strength 

The  wish  captivity  to  flee, 

And  with  himself  no  longer  be, 

Forgetting  in  the  battle's  rage 

His  darkened  memory's  darkest  page. 

Vain  wish  !  As,  guarded,  day  by  day 

His  feet  along  the  cliffs  might  stray, 

The  far  blue  billows,  wildly  tost, 

Oppressed  with  sense  of  freedom  lost ; 

And  as  in  haunted  solitude, 

Each  night,  through  grated  casement  rude, 

He  saw  sweet  Luna  in  the  wave 

Her  palely  imaged  beauty  lave, 

And  stars  upon  the  waters  sleep, 

O'er  which  the  moaning  winds  would  creep, 

From  all  its  fruitless  circuits  Thought, 

That  ranged  in  its  unjoyous  flight 

The  eternal  and  the  infinite, 
Still,  like  the  cage-bird  freed,  was  brought 
By  its  own  loneliness,  unsought, 
Back  to  its  songless  prison  there, 
His  heart,  grown  silent  with  despair ! 
But  ever  in  his  sleep  were  shown 
The  life,  the  world,  he  once  had  known  ; 
Amid  their  scenes  he  moved  again, 
Felt  all  their  varied  joy  and  pain, 
And  drank,  ere  yet  a  wanderer, 
The  beauty  and  the  light  of  her, 
His  soul's  star  in  the  days  that  were  ; 
For  when  in  peopled  dreams  we  lie, 
The  past  becomes  reality  ! 
19* 


230  TECUMSEH. 


III. 

September  now  was  dimly  seen 
Advancing  through  the  forest  green. 
Below  the  ledge,  upon  whose  brows 
The  walls  and  gleaming  fortress  rose, 
O-wa-o-la  one  morning  stood, 
Or  sauntered,  as  in  heedless  mood  ; 
But  Moray  knew,  that  naught  befell 
Unmarked  by  him,  and  from  his  cell 
Flung  down  Omeena's  chambered  shell, 
Which  carlessly  the  Huron  took 
And  passed  away  with  sign  nor  look. 
Days  glided  by.     At  evening-fall, 
Far  down  beneath  the  steep,  high  wall, 
The  captive  saw  Tecumseh  stand 
With  earnest  gesturings  of  his  hand, 
While  he,  to  whom  they  were  addressed, 
Seemed  to  refuse  his  stern  request. 
The  chieftain  passed.     Of  hope  bereft, 
To  his  dark  mind  was  Moray  left, 
When  sudden  voices  spoke  so  near, 
He  could  not  choose  but  list  and  hear. 
"  Ay,  soon,  for  Maiden's  need,  the  fleet 
Goes  down  the  lake.     If  we  may  meet 
And  sail  with  it,  'twill  save,  you  know, 
Long  journeyings — yes,  and  peril  too." — 
"  I  know  not  that ; — your  ship  will  not 
Escape,  be  sure,  from  hostile  shot. 
Your  lady  love  with  Death  may  wed, 
The  cold  wave  be  their  bridal  bed." — 
"  Who  fears  a  fleet  ruled  by  a  boy  1 
The  girl  will  laugh  at  such  annoy  !" — 
"  But  why  not  at  the  fortress  stay, 
Till  offers  some  less  dangerous  way]" — 
"  In  such  a  nest  of  gay  gallants  1 
No  !  sooner  shall  she  run  the  chance 


TECUMSEH.  231 

Of  slaughtering  shot,  and — curse  her  tongue  ! — 

The  maid,  sir,  loves  a  pensive  song !" 

Two  tones  exclaimed,  as,  from  below 

Where  wigwams  lay  beneath  the  brow 

Of  that  gray  cliff,  to  listeners  high 

Arose,  all  sad  and  tremblingly, 

A  voice  that,  floating  on  the  air, 

Seemed  to  enchain  the  stillness  there. 

IV. 

SONG. 

"  It  is  in  vain  my  sleepless  soul 

Hath  asked  for  thee  at  morn,  or  eve, 
Or  when  the  Night  her  starry  scroll 

Unrolled — 'tis  left  alone  to  grieve. 

"  It  is  in  vain  my  wearied  thought 
May  fly  from  world  to  world  for  thee  ; 

Unless  the  dim,  cold  past  be  sought, 
Thou  never  art  restored  to  me. 

"  But  Memory  is  faithful  yet, 

And  still  presents  thine  image  near  ; 
For  how  can  it  with  years  forget 

The  hours,  that  are  for  ever  dear  ? 

"  Most  sad  to  me  is  waking  light, 

When  I  with  loneliness  remain  ; 
But  dear  the  still  and  dreamy  night, 

For  then  I  am  with  thee  again. 

"  I  saw  thee  borne  beneath  the  wave, 

To  da'rkness  hurried  from  my  eyes ; 
And  thou — from  out  that  watery  grave 

To  me  thou  never  shalt  arise. 


TECUMSEH. 


"  Oh  !  on  what  bright,  beloved  star 

Hear'st  thou  the  mourning  strain  I  pour, 

That  I  may  watch  its  face  afar, 
And  fly  to  it,  when  life  is  o'er  ! 

"  Cease,  cease,  my  song — thou  art  but  vain  ! 

My  heavy  heart — be  still  I  pray  !  ^ 

Or  break  with  this  thy  throbless  pain, 

And  let  me  pass  to  him  away  !" 


That  sorrowing  voice — was  it  the  tone 
To  Moray  sweet  in  seasons  gone  "? — 
It  could  not  be — for  her,  he  knew, 
The  wild,  unpitying  waters  slew. — 
And  yet,  how  sadly  like  !     Again 
He  bent  his  ear — once  more  the  strain 
Began  the  soul  of  space  to  fill — 
Then  harsher  accents  "  fool !  be  still !" 
With  stifled  sobbings,  and — a  blow, 
Just  struggled  upwards  from  below — 
Then  all  was  hushed ;  and  breathing  there 
For  that  poor  maid  an  earnest  prayer, 
Whose  voice  so  called  the  lost  to  mind, 
The  captive  on  his  couch  resigned, 
As  clouds  and  hurrying  gales  arose, 
His  soul  and  senses  to  repose. 
'Twas  vain.     For  hours  the  wizard  Thought 
The  past's  dim  phantoms  round  him  brought 
Till,  as  he  heard  the  midnight  wind 
Scare  the  old  haunted  woods  behind, 
And,  far  below,  with  hoarser  roar, 
The  loud  surge  lash  the  beetling  shore, 
Close  by  his  cell  arose  the  sound 
Of  bodies  hurled  upon  the  ground — 


TECUMSEH.  233 

Then  struggling — then,  in  fragments  dashed 
By  ponderous  stone,  the  door-way  crashed — 
"  It  is  Tecumseh  :  follow  me  !" 
Exclaimed  a  deep  voice  hurriedly. 
With  bounding  footsteps  Moray  sprung, 
And  from  the  prostrate  watchman  flung 
His  light  frame  o'er  the  pickets  high, 
While  rushed  behind,  with  sudden  cry, 
Dark  forms  beneath  the  midnight  sky. 

VI. 

Wild  blasts  were  out — the  billows  rode 

The  deep  in  terror  and  abroad 

Were  hurrying  clouds  swept  o'er  the  moon, 

That  still  by  glimpses  dimly  shone. 

Fast,  fast,  beyond  the  fort,  they  urge 

Along  the  island's  lofty  verge, 

Till — hark ! — why  looks  Tecumseh  back  ! 

The  fearful  blood-hound's  on  their  track  ! 

Swift  was  the  Indian's  flying  foot 

But  swifter  far  the  savage  brute. 

With  glowing  eye  and  furious  fang, 

The  fierce  hound  on  his  shoulder  sprang, 

But,  o'er  th'  abyss  of  waters  hurled, 

Down,  down,  through  steepy  darkness  whirled  ; 

And,  as  the  piercing  yell  he  gave 

With  howling  wind  and  dashing  wave 

Was  blended  high — on — on  they  fled, 

And  rung  behind  the  trampling  tread 

Of  rushing  soldiers.     Thence  their  flight 

They  urged  oblique,  till  yawned  in  sight 

That  cratered  gorge,  along  whose  verge 

Rose  dizzy  o'er  the  foaming  surge 

The  Giant's  Arch.     With  fearless  bound, 

Since  there  no  other  pass  was  found, 

That  narrow  bridge  had  Moray  gained, 

When,  with  the  strength  of  steel  constrained, 


234  TECUMSEH. 

A  Briton's  grasp  was  on  his  breast. 
Together  on  the  bare  rock  pressed, 
Full  fierce,  though  brief,  in  manhood's  might 
Their  struggle  on  that  fearful  height. 
By  Moray's  strong  arm  backward  wrung, 
From  the  sharp  edge  his  foeman  swung  : — 
"  Save  me  ! — O  God  !" — It  was  too  late  ! 
Huge  fragments  with  the  soldier's  weight, 
Whirled  dim  and  dimmer,  round  and  round, 
Struck  steeply  with  a  crushing  sound 
The  broken  rocks  : — arose  no  cry 
But  surge  below  and  blasts  on  high. 

VII. 

Then  springing  past,  from  precipice 
They  swung  them  down  the  dim  abyss, 
By  perilous  steps,  while  gathering  eyes 
Gazed  from  above  in  dread  surprise. 
As  out  the  rock's  grim  face  they  pass, 
Tread  they  upon  what  moveless  mass  1 
It  is  the  soldier,  crushed  and  rent, 
With  sharp,  cold  stones  still  warmly  blent  ! 
Winding  along  the  broken  beach 
Beneath  the  cliffs,  at  length  they  reach, 
Beside  a  lowlier  shore  afloat, 
O-wa-o-la,  in  gallant  boat. 
With  lashing  spray,  and  tossing  foam, 
The  deep,  as  far  as  eye  could  roam, 
Was  roused  to  rage,  but  morning's  ray 
Might  not  behold  them  there  delay. 
Embarked,  though  every  lifted  wave 
Descending  seemed  to  make  their  grave, 
They  cleared  the  isle,  and  southward  tost, 
Sprang  forth  on  low  and  woody  coast. 


TECUMSEH.  2136 

VIII. 

Avoiding  then  the  Ottowa  homes, 
Four  days  direct,  through  forest  glooms, 
Their  course  they  bore  for  Erie's  side  ; 
Yet  never  once  that  mien  of  pride, 
With  deep  unuttered  grief  o'ercast, 
From  stern  Tecumseh's  features  passed  ; 
And  few  the  words  he  spake,  though  kind, 
As  absent  far  his  thoughtful  mind. 
— The  fifth  day's  evening  sun  was  low, 
And  bright  beneath  its  golden  glow, 
Where  Maiden's  breasted  mounds  arise, 
Detroit's  swift  river  met  their  eyes, 
Upon  whose  bosom,  hovering  wide, 
Young  Perry's  sail-borne  fleet  was  spied, 
While,  near  a  green  isle's  pebbly  pave, 
An  armed  boat  rocked  upon  the  wave. 
On  such  a  lovely  scene  to  look, 
Where,  prostrate  by  the  whirlwind's  stroke, 
A  fallen  tree  lay  huge  and  high, 
Advanced  the  chieftain  heedlessly — 
Ken-hat-ta-wa  with  armed  men 
Uprose  behind  : — unmoved,  as  when 
Confronting  dark  are  war-gods  set, 
Carved  calmly  stern,  the  warriors  met. 

IX. 

"  My  brother's  feet  are  tired  and  worn," 

With  courtesy  of  lofty  scorn, 

The  Ottowa  said  :  "  I  now  will  guide 

The  pale-face  where  he  shall  abide." 

"  The  red-man's  foot  can  never  tire, 

Unless  he  have  an  Ottowa  sire," 

Rejoined  Tecumseh  :  "  I  can  still 

Guide,  guard  the  pale-face  where  I  will. — 

"  Good  words — big  heart — but  bad,  that  eyes 


236  TECUMSEH. 

Should  see  not  where  a  foeman  lies  : 
Sight  better  than  a  valiant  tongue  !" 
One  glance  behind,  Tecumseh  sprung 
So  instant  o'er  that  massive  tree, 
An  eye  might  scarce  the  motion  see, 
Bore  back  their  chief,  with  sinewy  knee, 
Upon  the  earth,  while  either  hand 
Hurled  down  the  strongest  of  his  band ; 
And,  following  swift  such  opening  through, 
O-wa-o-la  and  Moray  flew 
Right  o'er  the  fallen,  and,  side  by  side, 
Plunged  headlong  through  the  rushing  tide  : 
Though  vengeful  shot  around  them  rained, 
That  rocking  bark  was  safely  gained. 


But  fearful  now  became  the  strife 
Those  chieftains  urged  for  death  or  life. 
With  fiercer  might  and  vaster  frame 
Ken-hat-ta-wa  to  the  conflict  came  ; 
But,  if  more  grace  around  them  clung, 
Tecumseh's  every  limb  was  strung 
With  tireless  nerves,  and  calmness  gave 
More  lasting  strength  than  wrath  can  have. 
Wreathing  their  corded  arms  compressed 
Around  each  painted,  slippery  breast, 
And  striving,  hand  and  teeth,  to  tear 
And  throttle  neck  and  bosom  bare, 
The  while  their  bony  knees  to  bring 
And  crush  beneath  the  vital  spring, 
In  serpent  ceilings,  fold  in  fold, 
They  rose  and  struggled,  writhed  and  rolled, 
Till  from  their  mouths,  and  nostrils  wide, 
Gushed  the  dark  blood  in  mingled  tide, 
And  each  strained  sinew  seemed  from  flesh  to  part, 
And  each  wild  eye-ball  from  its  socket  start. 


TECUMSEH.  237 


XI. 

Yet  neither  might  th'  advantage  gain, 
And  fainter  grew  their  desperate  strain, 
When,  where  their  slippery  blood  was  shed, 
Tecumseh  fell,  with  struggling  tread, 
Beneath  the  giant  Ottowa  borne  ; 
Who  then  in  triumph,  rage,  and  scorn, 
Shook  from  his  eyes  the  clotted  hair, 
And  raised  his  glittering  knife  in  air, 
And  grimly  frowned  Hate's  darkest  frown, 
As  came  his  arm  in  vengeance  down. 
That  blow  had  sent  the  hero's  soul 
Fast  fleeing  from  its  mortal  goal, 
But  that,  with  motion  as  of  thought, 
A  youthful  savage  sprung  and  caught 
Th'  uplifted  hand  :— the  keen  blade  found 
Its  deep  sheath  in  th'  insensate  ground. 
By  quick  and  desperate  effort  turned, 
His  baffled  foe  the  Shawnee  spurned, 
And  burst  away  :  in  madness'  might, 
That  foe,  like  whirlwind  of  the  night, 
Pursued,  o'ertook,  the  sudden  flight. 
Upon  the  river's -crumbling  brink 
Again  in  deadly  close  they  sink  ; 
But  now  beneath  the  Ottowa  fell, 
And  now  the  dusky  frown  of  Hell 
A  moment  on  Tecumseh's  brow 
Lowered  storm-like,  and  a  mortal  blow 
He  lifted  high — why  strikes  he  not  ? 
There  passed  his  soul  some  flash  of  thought — 
Perchance,  of  that  great  cause,  which  then 
That  blow  would  wound — perchance,  again, 
Of  her,  a  father's  mourning  daughter. — 
In  wordless  scorn  upon  the  water 
He  hurled  the  chief,  and,  rushing  past, 
Himself  into  its  billows  cast, 
20 


238  TECUMSEH. 

And  breasted  high  their  swelling  flood, 
Till  on  an  isle's  green  verge  he  stood. 

XII. 

The  Ottowa  rose  from  that  disgrace 

And  turned,  as  flame,  his  kindled  face. 

"  Child  of  a  wretch  !"  his  wrath  begun, 

"  No  Ottowa,  but  a  Shawnee's  son, 

With  whom  thy  mother  wronged  her  lord, 

How  dared'st  thou  thus  my  vengeance  ward1?" 

"  For  that,"  replied  the  Warrior  youth, 

With  most  undaunted  mien  of  truth, 

"  Tecumseh  is,  in  our  decay, 

While  clouds  are  darkening  all  our  day, 

The  red-man's  hope,  the  red-man's  stay. 

I  could  not  see  him  die  within 

Thy  grasp,  though  of  thy  race  and  kin!" — 

"  Then  take  thou,  for  a  slave's  belief, 

Take,  fool,  the  sentence  of  thy  chief!" 

He  spake — one  step  advanced — and  raised 

His  hatchet's  gleam,  with  eyes  that  blazed  : 

The  smooth-cheeked  warrior  started  not, 

But  stood,  as  pillared  to  the  spot, 

With  moveless  limbs  ;  nor  tongue,  nor  eye, 

Gave  stern  reproach  or  sad  reply. 

The  sharp  edge  sank  beneath  the  skull : 

Forward,  with  heavy  sound  and  dull, 

A  dusk  form  pressed  the  leafy  plain, 

Nor  spake,  nor  moved,  nor  breathed  again. 

XIII. 

Grave  silence  followed.     Round  the  dead, 
With  mute  reproach,  yet  secret  dread, 
Each  hardened  warrior  bowed  his  head  ; 
But  stood  their  chief  that  form  beside, 
In  hushed  regret  and  sullen  pride  : 


TECUMSEH.  239 

If  busy  thought  the  deed  condemn, 
He  will  not  bare  his  soul  to  them. 
As  on  the  isle's  low  marge  he  stood, 
That  tragic  close  Tecumseh  viewed, 
With  red  hand  o'er  the  waters  waved 
Menaced  revenge,  then,  turning,  braved 
Their  full  tide  towards  th'  opposing  shore  ; 
While  from  the  scene,  with  measured  oar, 
The  boat  swept  downward,  hushed  and  slow, 
To  gain  those  hovering  ships  below. 
The  ships  were  gained — their  white  sails  spread 
Bore  the  huge  hulks,  with  rocking  tread, 
Far  southward  towards  their  island-bay, 
While  o'er  the  crystal  walls  of  day 
Climbed  the  vast  clouds,  and  wind-borne  storms  rose  high, 
To  scare  lone  night  with  their  wild  revelry. 

XIV. 

'Tis  morn.     The  clouds  have  passed  away, 

Like  a  dark  dream — the  glorious  day 

Comes  down  upon  the  lake  afar — 

Fades  in  the  east  the  herald  star — 

The  light  wind,  breathing  through  the  sails 

Sweet  power  that  o'er  the  heart  prevails  ! 

Awakes  around  the  phantom  sleep 

Of  the  fair  isles,  that  crown  the  deep, 

Just  touched  with  Autumn's  earliest  blight  ; 

Each  ship  doth  o'er  her  shadow  float, 
A  creature  resting  in  its  might ; 
But,  ere  again  descends  the  night, 

There  shall  be  done  a  deed  of  note. 

xv. 

"  They  come — they  come — the  foe  !  the  foe  !" 
From  mast-head  high  was  sent  the  cry. — 

"  Where  ?  whence  7" — "  Beyond  the  islands  lo  ! 
I  see  them  southward  fly."— 


240  TECUMSEH. 

"  Up  with  the  anchors  !  Crowd  all  sail, 
Whate'er  may  catch  the  shifting  gale  ! 
Send  down  the  sign  along  the  line — 
Soon  shall  the  light  of  battle  shine  !" 
The  anchors  rose,  the  sails  were  set, 
But,  by  the  inconstant  breezes  met, 
Long  hours  upon  their  willing  way 
Young  Perry's  baffled  vessels  lay. 
Vain  was  his  heart's  untold  complaint ; 
In  varying  courses,  low  and  faint, 
Breathed  the  sweet  air.     At  last  the  wind 
Sprung  up  with  steady  strength  behind, 
The  isles  were  past,  and — there  they  lie, 
Close  hung  between  the  wave  and  sky ! 

xvi. 

Oh  !  fair  and  brave  was  their  array, 

As  on  th'  unconscious  deep  they  lay, 

Their  broadsides  gleaming  in  the  sun, 

Their  tall  spars  rising  one  by  one, 

Their  topsails  round  the  high  masts  curling, 

Their  ensigns  on  the  breeze  unfurling. 

Beauty  and  terror  !  Mighty  things 

They  seemed,  that,  with  their  folded  wings 

Reposing  on  the  wave  all  night, 

Had  flown  not  with  the  morning's  light ! 

They  breathe  not — but  there  is  a  breath, 

Hushed  deep  their  glorious  forms  beneath, 

That  from  those  hundred  mouths  can  blast, 

Their  foes  with  terrors  strange  and  fast : — 

Yet  fair  on  Erie's  blue  they  rest, 

Slow  heaving  with  her  .heaving  breast ! 

XVII. 

And  Perry  spoke  :  "  My  men — ye  need 
Few  words,  as  in  your  eyes  I  read. 
There  are  the  foe — the  strife  is  near — 
But  yours  are  not  the  souls  of  fear. 


TECUMSEH.  241 

My  men — we  meet  no  coward  foes. 

They  had  their  birth  where  valor  grows  ; 

And  some  with  Nelson  fought  afar 

At  Aboukir  and  Trafalgar. 

'Tis  well :  they're  worthy  of  our  strife. 

With  such  we'll  barter  life  for  life. 

We  know  there's  death  or  victory  : 

Nay  more — tis  victory  to  die  ! 

My  men — upon  this  flag  are  blazed 
The  immortal  words  of  Lawrence  dying  ; 

Say,  shall  they  on  our  front  be  raised, 
And  in  the  battle  flying  '?"— 

"  Ay  !  Ay  !" — and  as  to  silent  heaven 

Aloft  those  burning  words  were  given, 

"  Yield  not  the  ship  !"  with  loud  acclaim 

From  all  their  line  the  aery  frame 

Wide  echoed — then  the  hush  of  doom 

Fell  cold,  and  dimness  of  the  tomb 

Seemed  gathering  round  them  :  still  and  slow 

The  fleet  swept  down  upon  the  foe. 
Oh  !  there  are  beating  hearts — but  not  with  fear, 

And  fond  thoughts  turning  to  the  homes  of  love, 
And  far  recallings  of  sweet  memories  dear, 

And  hope-starred  images,  that  dimmer  move, 
And  low  requestings  of  each  other  near, 

And  vows  and  voiceless  prayers  to  ONE  above  ; 
For  now,  so  near  are  they,  Death  hovering  flings 
On  either  fleet  the  shadow  of  his  wings. 

XVIII. 

Stern  defiance  on  the  air 

Breathed  a  trumpet  wild  and  high, 
And  each  hardy  Briton  there 

Raised  a  shout  from  wave  to  sky. 
Then — a  moment  Perry's  van 
Advancing  as  the  breeze  could  fan — 
There  wreathed  a  smoke,  there  flashed  a  flame, 
20* 


242  TECUMSEH. 

And  crashing  through  his  bulwarks  came 
The  ponderous  globe,  and  fast  anon 
From  each  far-flinging  hostile  gun 
The  bolts  of  death  hailed  hurtling  on, 

And  strong-ribbed  oak  was  riven, 
And  breasts  of  steel  were  crushed  and  torn, 
And  eyes,  that  joyed  to  hail  the  morn, 

To  dayless  darkness  given. 
"  On,"  Perry  cried,  "to  closer  strife, 
Till  we  can  reap  the  fields  of  life, 
Then  leave  the  rest  with  Heaven  !" 
And  on  unwavering  through  the  storm 
The  star-ship  bore  her  shattered  form. 

XIX. 

She  neared — she  stopped — on  either  hand 
Her  fearless  consorts  took  their  stand, 

Save  one  aloof  that  lay. 
Ah  !  then  a  deadlier  work  began  ! 
Along  each  line  like  lightning  ran 

Sharp  flame,  and,  bursting  way 
The  dark  and  caverned  port-holes  through, 

Like  stones,  from  burning  beds  beneath, 

Hurled  on  the  deep  volcano's  breath, 
The  blazing  broadsides  crashing  flew 

From  shattered  side  to  side, 
The  rocking  waters  all  between 
Were  dimly  glassed  with  baleful  sheen, 

By  fearful  glimpse  descried — 
Groan  answered  groan>  and  shoutings  loud 
Rose  wild  within  the  smoky  cloud, 
Where  stern,  strong  men  in  death  were  bowed, 

And  curdled  life's  red  tide- 
Round  the  far  isles  and  forest  shore, 
Where  rolled  no  cannon's  voice  before, 
The  waves  grew  hush  beneath  their  roar, 

And,  slowly  darkening  wide, 


TECUMSEH.  243 

Above  the  dying  and  the  dead 
One  sulphurous,  lurid  shroud  was  spread, 
Through  which  the  all-beholding  sun 
Saw  not  the  work  of  havoc  done. 

xx. 

An  hour  is  past.     From  all  the  fleet 
Upon  the  star-ship  showers,  like  sleet, 
Their  mingling  shot :  in  Fate's  embrace, 
How  shall  she  hold  her  fiery  place  1 — 
Strife  ! — Terror  ! — Death  ! — O  struggling  pen, 
Thou'rt  idle  ! — Hark  ! — Again  !  again  ! — 
Heaven  be  your  aid,  ye  gallant  men  ! — 

Look,  how  the  battle  breathes  ! 
And  lo  !  on  hostile  ship  there  gleams — * 
It  is  ! — it  is  ! — how  near  she  seems  ! 

Amid  the  sable  wreaths 
A  maiden's  form  ! — Borne  loose  behind, 
Her  dark  hair  streamed  upon  the  wind, 
Her  bosom  bare,  her  robes  of  white, 
Flashed  with  the  battle's  fitful  light ; 
The  splintered  oak  and  whistling  shot 
Around  her  flew — she  heeded  not, 
But  wildly  waved,  with  arms  on  high, 
And  fearless  brow,  and  kindled  eye, 
Her  countrymen  to  victory. 

XXI. 

"  'Tis  she  !— O  Mary  !"  Moray  cried  : 
The  cannon's  thunder-roar  replied. 
"  Fly  !  fly  !  O  Mary,  fly  beneath  ! 
Stand  not  before  the  shafts  of  death  !" — 
She  saw  him  not,  nor  heard  his  call, 
And  courted  death  could  not  appal ; 
For,  worn  by  grief  and  long  despair, 
To  her  'twere  joy  to  perish  there. — 
"  Haste  !  hide  thee,  till  the  battle's  done  !' 


244  TECUMSEH. 

Still  standing  high,  from  ruined  gun, 

Alone  and  lost,  she  waved  them  on, 

While  rose  the  cheering  cries  amain — 

"  Now  for  the  stars  and  stripes — again  !" — 

"  St.  George  for  England  !" — Round  his  brain 

The  whole  mad  scene  began  to  whirl : 

"  Oh,  hear'st  thou  not !" — he  saw  De  Vere 

Rush  up  and  rudely  seize  the  girl : 
"  Curst  wretch  !  this  bolt  thy  heart  shall  tear  !" 
But,  ere  the  rash-aimed  ball  was  flown, 
A  flying  fragment  dashed  him  down 
Among  the  dead, — and  sharp,  and  fast, 
As  hail  upon  the  whirlwind's  blast, 

When  Spring's  young  leaves  are  shorn, 
Through  hulk  and  shrouds  and  cordage  passed 
The  shivering  shot,  and  sail  and  mast 

Were  to  the  red  deck  borne, 
And  shrieks,  and  shouts,  and  groans  arose, 
And  they  that  writhed  with  mortal  throes, 
And  they  that  heard  nor  friends  nor  foes, 

With  mangling  bolts  were  torn. 
Yet  moved  through  all  that  fearful  scene 
Firm  Perry  with  unaltered  mien, 
And  to  "  th'  immortal  words"  on  high 
The  dying  turned  their  glazing  eye, 

And  in  their  heaven  of  blue, 
Above  the  tempest  and  the  night 
Of  death,  the  floating  stars  were  bright, 

The  free-born  eagle  flew  L 


O  for  a  voice  of  future  shame, 
If  not  renown,  that  could  reclaim 
Yon  recreant  vessel  to  the  strife, 
Where  toil  the  faint  remains  of  life  ! 
Long  Moray  lay  with  drooping  head, 
So  still  and  pale,  they  deemed  him  dead. 


TECUMSEH.  245 

At  last  the  loud,  unceasing  din 
Awoke  his  torpid  sense  within  ; 
He  stirred,  and  from  the  gory  deck 
Half  rising,  gazed  upon  the  wreck, 
Wildly,  as  if  'twere  all  a  dream  : 
He  saw  each  plank  with  carnage  stream, 
The  dead  lie  piled,  and  wave  the  stars 
O'er  shattered  bones  and  shivered  spars, 
Dismounted  guns,  and  rigging  riven, 
Yards  through  the  broken  bulwarks  driven, 
And  high  masts  mid  the  corses  hurled, 
Their  tattered  canvass  round  them  curled. 

xxm. 

Perry's  calm,  determined  hand 
O'er  the  last  gun  held  the  brand, 
But  ere  the  fiery  touch  was  given, 
Beneath  his  hand  'twas  dashed  and  riven. — 

"  Ho  !    man  the  boat." — A  moment  gavo 

Their  light  bark  to  the  frighted  wave  ; 
And  Moray,  whose  collected  thought 
Again  that  startling  vision  brought 
Before  his  eyes,  with  anguish  wrung. 
Scarce  conscious  o'er  the  ship-side  sprung  : 
With  maniac's  strained  and  sinewy  grasp 
An  oar  his  gory  fingers  clasp. 
Aloft  stood  Perry  on  the  prow, 
His  thick  curls  shaken  round  his  brow,, 
And  o'er  his  shoulder  brightly  wreathed 
Those  words  by  deathless  valor  breathed 
From  pallid  lips.     "Yield  not,"  they  sighed  : — 
"  Speed,  speed,  my  men,"  the  hero  cried  ; 

"  Yon  ship  hath  deadlier  store  !" 
Some  furlongs  o'er  the  deep  it  lay, 
And  he  must  make  his  perilous  way 

Beneath  the  cannon's  roar  : 


246  TECUMSEH. 

Full  well  the  foe  that  movement  knew, 

And  fast  the  death-shot  round  him  flew, 

That  o'er  him  showered  the  sprayey  dew, 

And  pierced  their  thin  bark  through  and  through, 

Yet  high  his  front  he  bore, 
Nor  looked  he  round,  nor  took  he  heed : 
"  Speed,  speed,  my  men,  for  victory  speed  !" 

Fast  gleamed  the  bending  oar, 
Nor  from  one  head  a  lock  was  shorn, 
For  Perry  in  that  boat  was  borne. 

XXIV. 

He  reached  the  ship,  he  climbed  the  deck, 

He  bade  its  recreant  course  to  check  : 

"  Back  with  your  top-sails  !     Up  helm,  ho  ! 

Yon  trysail  closely  brail ! 
Square  yards,  and  fast  upon  the  foe 

Bear  down  before  the  gale  ! 
Haste  on  t.he  gun-boats — all  must  r.losfi 
In  slaughtering  conflict  with  our  foes — 

Hang  out  this  burning  sign  !" 
As  thus  with  rapid  words  he  spoke, 
"St.  George  for  England,  ever!"  broke 

From  all  the  British  line. 
He  looked,  and  saw  no  longer  wave 
His  flag  above  that  vessel  brave, 
Of  valor  now  the  ruined  grave  : 
"  Ay  !"  cried  he,  "  short-lived  triumph  have — 

The  next,  the  next  is  mine  !" 

XXV. 

The  breeze  blew  well-— on  wings  of  fate 

The  dark  ship  rushed  along — 
Beside  each  gun%  of  deadly  freight, 
A  minister  did  breathless  wait, 
With  fiery  hand  and  heart  elate, 
Or  mutely  glanced  upon  his  mate 


TECUMSEH.  247 

With  looks  that  made  them  strong. 
The  British  fleet  in  close  array 
Poured  death  to  daunt  her  on  the  way, 

She  bounded  nigh  and  nigher, 
Till,  broke  their  line,  on  either  side 
Must  they  her  fearful  blast  abide — 

"  Now,"  cried  Perry, — "Jire  !" 

XXVI. 

As  the  whirlwind  in  its  wrath 

Through  the  forest  tears  its  path, 

Rending  hemlock,  oak,  and  ash, 

In  one  universal  crash, 

And  pierce  to  heaven  the  howl  and  cries 

Of  wild-beasts  in  their  agonies  : 

So  that  blast  in  terror  went, 

So  those  wooden  walls  were  rent, 

So  from  crushed  and  mangled  foes 

Cries  of  utter  anguish  rose. 

The  sable  pall  was  spread  around, 

But  through  its  volumed  folds  profound 

A  maiden's  voice,  so  sweet  and  clear, 

Thrilled  on  Moray's  aching  ear, 

In  accents  calling,  wild  and  high, 

Her  countrymen  to  "  do  or  die." 

Ah  !  what  a  voice  !     He  bent  and  gazed — 

The  smoke  grew  thin — 'twas  she  !  'twas  she  ! 
That  white  form,  tossing  arms  upraised — 

"  O  Mary,  speak  to  me  !" 
She  heard,  and  through  the  space  so  dim 
She  turned  that  face,  those  eyes  on  him  : 
"  My  father's  God  !  and  is  it  thou  1 
Oh  !  save  me,  Henry,  save  me  now  !" 

XXVII. 

Then  again  with  lurid  light 
Blew  each  gun  its  blast  of  might, 


248  TECUMSEH. 

Shook  the  ships  and  rolled  the  smoke. 

He  saw  her  fall — he  deemed  the  stroke 

Of  flying  shot  had  laid  her  low, 

And  prostrate  sank  upon  his  brow, 

With  sickness  to  the  vital  core, 

And  heard,  and  felt,  and  moved  no  more, 

While  rang  to  heaven  th'  exulting  cry 

"  Down  with  the  British  lion,  down  ! 
Up  with  the  star-born  eagle,  high  !" 

And  trebly  swelled  the  yell  and  moan 

Of  mortal  agony. 

This  could  not  last.     In  smoke  and  blood, 
Among  his  shattered  bulwarks  stood 
One  high  of  rank,  and  signal  gave 
That  hushed  was  England's  battle  brave 
And  sunk  her  pride  in  glory's  grave  : 
Her  flags  of  red,  ensanguined  glow 
Were  furled  on  redder  decks  below. 
— The  shroud  of  battle  rolled  away 
And  there  upon  the  lake  they  lay, 
O  how  unlike  that  glorious  sight, 
On  which  had  burst  the  morning's  light ! 

XXVIII. 

Sailed  the  ships,  and  on  the  morn 
From  their  decks  were  slowly  borne 
The  dead  of  rank,  to  have  their  grave 
On  land,  yet  near  the  rolling  wave. 
That  morning  smiled  as  bright  and  fair, 
As  if  no  scene  of  death  were  there  ; 
And  lay  the  lulled  lake,  calm  and  clear, 
Reading  the  heavens,  as  if  no  fear 
And  strife  and  triumph  and  despair, 
Had,  hid  from  her  their  ancient  scroll, 
And  shaken  all  her  tranquil  soul. 


TECUMSEH. 
XXIX. 

With  their  robes  of  war  arrayed, 

In  the  barks  the  dead  were  laid, 

Over  them  the  colors  flying, 

Which  had  waved  when  they  were  dying  ; 

And  the  mournful  music  woke, 

Scarce  the  rowers  heaving  breath, 
Keeping  time,  with  measured  stroke, 

To  their  chanted  dirge  of  death. 
Soon  they  stood  upon  the  strand, 

Foeman  met  as  friends  in  sorrow, 
And  the  living  raised  in  hand 

Those  who  knew  not  of  that  morrow, 
On  that  lone  and  shadowy  shore, 

Ranged  beneath  the  silent  sky, 
With  the  youngest  borne  before, 

Foe  and  foe  alternately. 

xxx. 

Then  slowly  and  solemnly,  wrecks  of  war, 

To  the  fife  and  the  drum  they  wended, 
While  the  guns  from  the  shattered  ships  afar 

Their  roar  with  the  melody  blended. 
Swell  high,  swell  higher,  thou  soul-stirring  fife  ! 

Deep  drum,  roll  a  battle-peal  boldly  ! 
O  !  ye  cannot  awaken  the  dead  to  strife, 

They  slumber  so  soulless  and  coldly  ! 
Then  low  be  your  voice,  and  with  measured  tread 

Let  the  pomp  of  the  tomb  move  slowly  : 
Bear,  bear  ye  the  brave  to  their  dreamless  bed 

And  lay  them  embalmed  in  their  glory. 
Bold,  bold  were  your  hearts,  and  your  hands  were  strong 

For  your  countries  and  fame  immortal : 
Ah,  hushed  in  a  darkness  deep  and  long, 

Shall  ye  rest  you  in  Night's  cold  portal ! 
21 


250  TECUMSEH. 

No  trumpet  may  sound  "  we  come  !  we  come  !" 

Nor  a  voice  shall  welcome  ye  thither  : 
For  there's  nought  ever  stirs  in  her  realms  of  gloom, 

Whence  the  spirit  departeth — O  whither  ! 
They  came  to  the  grave,  nor  a  word  they  said, 

Side  by  side  the  unheralded  placing ; 
Then  a  prayer — and  the  farewell  shot  was  paid 

To  the  foemen  in  death  embracing. 
By  the  side  of  thy  billows,  O  Erie,  they  lie, 

But  they  hear  not  the  voice  of  thy  roaring, 
Nor  behold  the  gray  eagle  in  liberty's  sky 

O'er  the  place  of  their  burial  soaring  : 
But  their  countries  shall  cherish  their  memories  blest, 
And  the  star  of  the  pole  watcheth  over  their  rest ! 


TECUMSEH 


CANTO  NINTH. 


THE  time  has  been  when  all  this  western  world 
Was  one  vast  forest,  crowded,  dim,  and  deep  ; 
When  waved  no  banner  on  its  shores  unfurled, 
Save  wild,  green  streamers  o'er  the  airy  steep  ; 
When  chieftains  watched,  by  lake  or  river's  sweep, 
Through  all  the  night  with  gory  War,  or  bade 
Returning  Peace  her  gentler  vigils  keep, 
Then  held  wise  councils  in  the  breezy  shade, 
While  the  brown  lover  near  soft  wooed  his  black-eyed  maid. 

The  Orient  dreamed — the  daring  voyager  spread 
His  snowy  sails  above  the  yielding  wave, 
And  lo !  no  more,  if  eastern  shores  we  tread, 
Doth  one  lone  stream  primeval  shadows  lave, 
And,  with  the  forests,  sink  to  silent  grave 
The  tribes  that  roamed  their  wilds  in  savage  might ; 
Far  west  a  few  old  woods  and  warriors  brave 
Yet  linger  on  the  verge  of  hastening  light : 
Full  soon  shall  they,  too,  pass,  and  all  to  them  be  night ! 


252  TECUMSEH. 

What  wonder,  then,  if  in  their  gloomy  soul 
They  formed  resolves  of  vengeance,  deep  and  stern  ; 
If,  as  by  day  and  night  upon  them  stole 
Visions  of  scenes  that  might  no  more  return, 
They  scorned  before  their  foes  aloud  to  mourn, 
Or  let  one  tear  their  voiceless  sorrow  tell, 
But,  while  their  hearts  the  more  within  them  burn, 
Held  sullen  councils  in  each  lonely  dell, 
Then  rushed  into  the  strife,  and  fiercely  fighting  fell ! 


From  Moray's  darkened  soul  at  last 

That  stupor's  death-like  spell  had  passed  ; 

And  he  had  risen  with  tranquil  face, 

But  fixed  and  brooding  mournfulness, 

Himself  addressing  words  to  none, 

And  answering  speech  with  heedless  tone, 

Like  one  who  in  his  sleep  hath  seen 

Some  fearful  thing  that  once  hath  been, 

Or  visions  strange  and  terrible, 

Which  he  may  never  dare  to  tell  : 

He  stood  that  very  grave  beside 

With  thoughts  that  wandered  wild  and  wide. 

Was  it  a  heavenly  phantom's  form, 

That  rose  amid  the  battle's  storm, 

Nor  shrank  from  death,  nor  shook  with  dread, 

The  spirit  of  the  mourned  and  dead  1 

So  would  he  deem,  but  some  had  told, 

That,  when  the  smoke  was  thickest  rolled, 

They  seemed  to  see  a  light  canoe 

Swung  forth  upon  the  waters  blue, 

Then,  where  the  cannons'  flashing  shone, 

A  maiden's  form  into  it  thrown, 

While  two  beside  her  spring,  and  ply 

Swift  oars,  as  who  from  peril  fly  : 

And  when  at  last,  the  conflict  o'er, 

Their  shroud  enwrapped  the  wrecks  no  more, 


TECUMSEH.  253 

A  boat  far  out,  with  hasty  sweep, 
Seemed  pressing  shoreward  o'er  the  deep, 
Unknown,  nor  seen  to  reach  the  coast, 
So  soon  through  deepening  distance  lost. 

ii. 

The  pageant  of  the  grave  was  done, 
And  underneath  that  morning  sun 
The  dead  were  left  to  their  repose 
And  Moray,  when  he  saw  it  close, 
Turned  silently  away,  and  bore 
His  steps  along  the  wild-wood  shore, 
If  haply  by  the  billows'  side 
Might  trace  or  token  be  espied. 
O-wa-o-la,  who  still  would  share 
IJis  sorrows  with  fraternal  care  ; 
Who,  when  his  soul  and  senses  reeled, 
Had  by  him  in  the  carnage  kneeled, 
Nor  heeded  aught  the  groaning  strife, 
But  watched  returning  dawn  of  life  ; — 
O-wa-o-la  with  Moray  went, 
His  lynx-like  eyes  in  silence  bent 
On  every  side.     At  last  were  seen, 
Concealed  in  thickets  close  and  green, 
A  boat  and  oars  ;  and  soon  was  found 
A  trail  upon  the  leafy  ground, 
Which  then  they  traced  as  sure  and  fleet 
As  blood-hounds  track  the  murderer's  feet. 

in. 

Within  the  forest  depths  embraced 
A  strange  and  lonely  spot  was  placed. 
All  trees  of  varied  growth  had  made, 
On  every  side,  abiding  shade 
With  woven  boughs  ;  but  o'er  the  place, 
Environed  thus,  an  elder  race 
21* 


254  TECUMSEH. 

Rose  rare  and  mighty — such,  sublime, 

As  chronicle  the  years  of  time. 

And  in  their  midst  a  single  mound 

Stood  high  above  the  earth  around, 

Like  those  whereof  our  tale  has  told 

In  strains  before,  mysterious,  old, 

Reared  once  in  time,  by  hands  unknown, 

In  massive  hoariness  alone, 

Among  some  powerful  race,  'tis  deemed, 

Who  lived,  and  toiled,  and  loved,  and  dreamed, 

Like  us,  till  struggling  for  their  homes, 

They  fell  amid  their  mighty  tombs. 

And  on  its  level  summit  grew, 

Of  dateless  birth,  a  tree  or  two, 

That,  springing  o'er  that  ancient  sleep, 

Had  struck  their  strong  roots  wide  and  deep, 

And  stretched  o'er  dead  leaves,  yearly  strown, 

Gray  arms  through  ages  dimly  gone. 

But,  by  its  southern  side,  beneath 

Were  humbler  monuments  of  death, 

Low  mossy  hillocks,  where  were  laid 

Some  Indian  dead  of  tribe  decayed — 

So  near  two  perished  races  slept ! 

And  just  beyond  was  brightly  kept 

A  tranquil  fire  ;  and,  farther,  rose 

A  tall,  slim  tree,  of  faded  boughs, 

Around  whose  roots,  with  care  arrayed, 

Was  fuel  piled  ;  while  through  the  shade 

Were  seen  a  transient  hut  or  two, 

By  one  of  which,  as  if  he  grew 

From  out  the  earth,  an  Indian  stood : — 

What  guards  he  there  in  solitude  ! 

IV. 

The  sun  descending,  scarce  his  rays 
Illumed  the  forest's  deepening  haze  ; 
And  there  all  darkly,  group  by  group, 
Along  that  hoar  mound's  leafy  slope 


TECUMSEH.  255 


The  warriors  of  the  wild  were  met, 
In  deep  consult,  if  longer  yet, 
So  many  conflicts  vainly  fought, 
Or  but  with  triumph  dearly  bought, 
They  should  against  the  Seventeen  Fires 
Avenge  their  injured  selves  and  sires. 
— O  they  from  many  homes  were  come, 
Thus  gathered  in  that  forest's  gloom — 
From  the  sweet  South's  perennial  pride, 
Where  first-born  rivers  roll  their  tide, 
From  near  Wakondah's  glorious  rest 
In  the  bright  regions  of  the  West, 
From  the  blue  waters  of  the  North, 
Whose  bravest  then  were  gathered  forth, 
And  remnants  of  once  powerful  races, 
That  in  the  east  had  left  their  traces, 
Sad  tokens  of  a  glory  past, 
Only  in  dim  tradition  glassed. 


And  thus  amid  the  failing  light 
They  sat  in  hushed  and  sullen  might — 
That  silent  fierceness  mixed  with  sadness, 
Which  makes  Revenge's  moody  madness — 
Yet,  deep  howe'er  their  soul's  disguise, 
Drank  lightning  from  each  other's  eyes. 
But  highest  on  that  nameless  mound, 
There  sat  those  aged  trees  around, 
Whose  reverend  shadow  o'er  them  fell, 
The  chiefs  and  sages,  honored  well 
By  place  supreme,  whose  care  was  seen 
In  furrowed  brow  and  patriarch  mien. 
Slow  rose  at  last  an  aged  one, 
And  calm  the  grave  consult  begun, 
Soft  peace  advising  ;  every  word, 
As  wisdom's  utterance,  was  heard. 
Then  others  spoke,  in  varied  mood, 
Some  fiercely  urging  war  and  blood, 


256 


TECUMSEH. 


Some,  milder,  counselling  to  close 
A  hopeless  strife  with  mightier  foes. 

VI. 

Stood  forth  a  chieftain,  old  and  wise, 

On  whom  they  turned  their  reverent  eyes. 

"Brothers,"  his  voice  fell  deep  and  low — 

"  Sages  and  warriors  :  oil  our  foe 

May  the  Great  Spirit  pour  his  wrath  ! 

I  too  would  say,  on  war's  red  path 

Let  men  of  might  go  forth  and  slay, 

Were  it  not  vain  for  our  decay, 

The  red-man's  loss,  the  white  man's  gain. 

Brothers — let  Wyan's  words  be  plain. 

There  is  no  fear  in  Nidi's  soul. 

None  ever  saw  him  shun  the  roll 

Of  fiery  battle.     He  hath  done 

Deeds  worthy  of  a  warrior's  son. 

By  the  great  lakes,  by  rivers  wide 

In  the  green  South,  and  near  the  side 

Of  far  VVakondah's  mountains  bright, 

This  arm  hath  ruled  the  raging  fight, 

This  foot  hath  chased  the  flying  foe  ; 

Nay,  many  a  white-man's  feet  were  slow — 

And  weeds  and  wild-grass  o'er  them  grow  ! 

Ah  !  then  was  Nidi-Wyan  young  ! 

But,  brothers,  years,  that  spoil  the  strong. 

The  gathering  years  have  made  him  wise. 

He  sees,  that  with  such  enemies 

Defeat  or  victory  digs  the  graves 

Of  all  our  race,  while  they,  like  waves, 

If  some  die  foaming  on  the  shore, 

Still  others  follow  evermore. 

We  heard  but  late  their  great  guns  break 

The  forest's  sleep  from  Erie's  lake  : 

Where  now  our  allies'  boasted  aid  ? 

Their  ships,  themselves,  are  captive  made. 


TECUMSEH.  257 

Our  strife  is  ruin.     Yet  if  ye 

Stern  conflict,  warriors,  still  decree, 

Old  Nidi  Wyan  will  not  shun 

The  place  where  mighty  deeds  are  done." 

VII. 

Up  frowning  sprung  the  Ottowas'  chief ; 

"  Brothers,  Ken-hat-ta-wa's  words  are  brief. 

I  speak  for  war.     Let  others  rest 

Who  deem  the  red-man's  wrongs  redressed. 

I  wish  for  blood — and  let  it  flow, 

Though  all  my  race  and  kin  lie  low  ! 

Who  talk  of  peace  )     Who  bid  forget 

The  wrongs  of  years,  heaped  hotly  yet  ] 

Are  they  not  those,  who  slew  in  youth 

The  coward  whites  1  who  boast  forsooth 

Of  bold  exploit,  then  bid  embrace 

White-livered  Peace  1     Are  we  a  race 

Less  brave  than  they  ?     If  they  are  chill 

With  frosty  age,  must  we  be  still  ? 

Their  veins  are  shrunk,  their  nerves  are  dry, 

Their  limbs  are  withered — *  peace'  they  cry  ! 

Peace  1 — Peace  with  whom  1 — The  adders  pale 

That  crawl  with  cold  and  slimy  trail 

Upon  our  fathers'  graves,  and  creep 

Into  our  wigwams  !     May  they  sleep 

Paler  in  death  !  What !  cringe  and  bow, 

Like  dogs  1     By  A-re-ous-ki,  no  ! 

Warriors — I  am  of  Pontiac's  blood. 

Like  him,  I  hate  the  reptile  brood. 

Fawn  1     Lick  the  dust  whereon  they  crawl  1 

Not  //     So  low  let  others  fall ! 

7  say — Reve-nge !     And  if  we  die, 

What  then  !     Revenge  is  victory  ! 

I  ask  not  safety ;  let  me  have 

One  day's  red  vengeance — then  a  grave  !" 


TECUMSEH. 


VIII. 

His  words  in  every  soul  were  fire, 

When  lo  !  a  venerable  sire, 

The  memory  of  a  vanished  age, 

Whose  sad  and  awful  heritage 

It  was,  to  live  when  all  were  gone 

His  youth  and  ripening  years  had  known, 

By  aid  of  others  slowly  rose. 

The  hair  around  his  drooping  brows 

Fell  thin  and  silvery,  stirred  with  breath 

Of  passing  breeze  ;  his  frame  beneath, 

Of  hugest  limbs,  was  gaunt  and  shrunk 

With  weight  of  years  ;  and  deeply  sunk 

Within  the  caverns  of  the  mind, 

His  eyes  burned  dimly.     Half  reclined 

Beside  a  time-worn,  massive  tree, 

That  seemed,  like  him,  a  shape  to  be, 

Left  from  the  past,  all  hollowly 

Stole  forth  from  his  sepulchral  breast, 

Whereon  his  feeble  hands  were  pressed, 

A  voice,  as  doth  an  echo  come 

From  out  the  gray  and  ruined  tomb. 

Each  eye  was  fixed  in  awe,  as,  broken 

By  frequent  pause,  his  words  were  spoken. 

IX. 

"  Children — for  many  winters  lo  ! 

The  mountains  stand  :  the  rivers  flow 

To  the  great  deep — and  none  may  know 

Their  numbered  years  :  the  strong,  bright  Sun 

Still  journeys  on  his  way  alone. — 

They  grow  not  old. — But  man  decays. — 

The  years  go  round,  and  lo  !  his  face 

Is  seen  no  more — and  stranger  hands 

Lay  him  to  rest. — We-o-li  stands 

A  blasted  hemlock  on  the  hill. 


TECUMSEH.  269 

The  winds  of  many  winters  shrill 

Have  whistled  through  its  boughs,  till,  dead, 

They  whiten  o'er  its  withered  head. 

Of  generations  born  with  me 

I — only  I — cease  not  to  be. 

But  wisdom  comes  with  thronging  years. — 

What  voice  is  in  We-o-li's  ears  1 

Is  it  the  voice  of  Tamenend, 

Thou  counsellor  of  my  youth,  my  friend  ? 

Do  I  still  hear  thee,  as  when  thou 

Taught'st  me  beneath  the  cedar  bough 

By  the  broad  Delaware  1 — no  more 

Shall  I  behold  thy  native  shore  ! 

— Who  has  not  heard  of  Tamenend, 

The  old,  the  wise  ?  He  was  the  friend 

Of  young  We-o-li.     Oft  he  told, 

While  near  those  mighty  waters  rolled, 

The  Lenni  Lenape's  glories  past; 

And  how  with  winged  ships,  swift  and  vast, 

The  pale-men  came  ;  and  how  the  race 

Of  red-men  from  the  kindly  face 

And  bosom  of  our  mother  earth, 

Though  born  an  earlier,  nobler  birth, 

Began  to  fail  by  them,  and  still 

Must  fail  and  vanish. — I  am  chill. 

Will  any  youth  draw  near,  and  spread 

His  wild-skin  robe  around  my  head  ?" 


"  Children — it  is  in  vain  ye  strive. 

It  is  in  vain  ye  bravely  give 

Your  lives  upon  the  reeking  field. 

It  is  in  vain  your  hands  are  steeled 

To  conflict  resolute  and  long, 

As  is  the  memory  of  our  wrong. 

For  what  can  death  and  victory  do 

In  combat  with  a  countless  foe  ? 

What  is  the  storm,  the  whirlwind's  might, 


260  TECUMSEH. 

To  sweep  the  thronging  clouds  from  sight  ? 
They  sink,  yet  rise  on  every  hand, 
And  their  pale  presence  fills  the  land. 
Can  ye  contend  forever  ?  May 
Your  leagued  power  their  inroads  stay  ? 
'Tis  idle. — Does  the  sun  behold 
Tribes  mightier,  than  were  of  old 
The  Lenni  Lenape — first  born  race  ? 
How  goodly  was  their  dwelling  place 
Beside  a  thousand  streams  !     How  strong, 
The  power  their  banded  tribes  among  ! 
Where  now  are  they  ? — A  remnant  roams  ! 
The  pale-face  holds  their  ancient  homes  ! — 
So  must  it  be — our  race  depart — 
For  we  have  grieved  Manitto's  heart : 
'Tis  he  hath  brought  the  stranger  near, 
And  broke  the  red-man's  bow  and  spear  ! 
Yet  mourn  not,  children.     Southward  far, 
Where  vast  and  flaming  mountains  are, 
Great  nations  into  ruin  fall. 
Nay  more  what  race  hath  burial 
Beneath  our  feet  ?  Our  hearts  know  not. 
How  should  we  shun  such  common  lot  ? 
No !  live — It  is  more  chill  and  cold. 
Will  Nidi  close  my  mantle's  fold  ? — 
Live  ye  in  peace  till  day  be  done. 
Ye  follow  towards  the  setting  sun. 
Time  comes,  of  all  our  race  the  last, 
By  the  great  western  waters  cast, 
Shall  sink  with  wrongs  and  grief  oppressed, 
What  then  ?  Our  Islands  of  the  Blest 
Are  left  to  us  !     We  shall  be  there 
A  shadowy  realm  whose  forms  are  air  : 
But  joy  is  with  them,  never  pain — 
Nor  e'er  shall  pale-face  entrance  gain. — 

'Tis  cold  ! — 'tis  dim  ! — I  see  but  forest  glooms  ! 

Spirit  of  Tamenend,  Weoli  comes  !" 


TECUMSEH.  261 


XI. 

His  accents  ceased — more  glassy  grew 

His  dim  eyes,  gleaming  coldly  blue — 

His  gaunt  frame,  bent  between  his  knees, 

Sank  down  beneath  those  aged  trees  : 

Upon  their  wasted  roots  and  bare 

Lay  low  the  mighty  Delaware. 

Nor  word,  nor  voice,  broke  forth  around  : 

But,  drawing  near  along  the  mound, 

The  eldest  twain  of  all  their  bands, 

With  placid  mien,  but  faltering  hands, 

The  cold  and  bloodless  limbs  composed, 

His  wild-skin  robe  around  them  closed, 

Then,  back  retiring,  sat  again, 

And  stillness  held  unbroken  reign. 

The  latest  words  his  wisdom  gave 

Spake  peace,  and  seemed  as  from  the  grave. 

Manitto's  was  that  failing  voice  ! 

Each  soul  was  awed,  nor  any  choice 

Appeared  for  them,  but  silently 

To  wander  from  their  homes,  and  die. 

Such  feelings  ruled  the  gloomy  hour, 

With  all  Despair's  heart-crushing  power. 

XII. 

Tecumseh  rose.     His  features  high 
Were  calm,  except  the  flashing  eye  ; 
His  neck  and  swarthy  breast,  that  throbbed 
With  pulse  of  fire,  he  half  unrobed, 
And  drawing  near  with  noiseless  tread, 
Where  sunset  shone  upon  his  head, 
His  bare  arm  stretched  above  the  dead. 
"How  art  thou  fallen,"  low  words  began, 
In  tones  that  through  their  bosoms  ran, 
"  Pine  of  the  mountains  !  Who  hath  done 
This  deed  on  thee,  O  warrior's  son, 
22 


262  TECTJMSEH. 

0  sire  of  men  ?  What  power  of  ill, 
Wise  soul,  brave  heart,  tmconquered  will, 
Hath  laid  thee  low  1  Thy  years  are  o'er  : 
Thou  shalt  arise  from  earth  no  more  ! 

Warriors — his  time  is  come  at  length. 
Where  now  is  valor  1  Where  is  strength  1 
Where  wisdom  ]  Lo  !  We-o-li's  dead  ! 
The  son  of  Narhe's  soul  hath  fled  ! 
Pride  of  the  Wa-pa-na-chi — friend 
Of  age-remembered  Tamenend — 
Inheritor  of  his  counsels  !  Who, 
In  manhood's  might,  may  bend  the  bow 
He  bent  in  youth  ]    What  hand  shall  wield 
His  war-club  o'er  the  embattled  field  1 
His  place  in  council  who  can  fill  ? 
The  mighty  one  is  fallen  ! — How  still ! — 
And  why  ?  The  years  have  loved  to  spare 
His  wrinkled  brow,  his  silvery  hair  : — 
What  bowed  him  here  these  tombs  among  ? 
Remembrance  of  the  red-man's  wrong  ! — 
And  where  to  sleep  1  In  peaceful  grave 
By  Susquehanna's  rolling  wave, 
Or  rock-born  Delaware  1 — No,  never ! 
The  rushing  of  their  native  river 
May  soothe  his  fathers  where  they  rest, 
But  he  shall  lie  alone,  unblest. 

XIII. 

Watching  his  words  despair  enchain, 

He  raised  a  loftier,  louder  strain  : 

"  And  yet  I  know  not. — Senseless  clay  ! 

1  deem  thee  less  unblest  than  they  ! — 
For,  brothers,  o'er  their  honored  heads 
With  spurning  foot  the  pale-face  treads ; 
This  clay,  perchance,  may  find  some  spot, 
Untrod,  unknown,  where  he  is  not. — 
What  said  I  ?  They  were  idle  words  ! 
This  whole  wide  land  no  spot  affords, 


TECUMSEH.  263 

Where  great  We-o-li  would  not  be 
Some  day  the  stranger's  mockery  ! 

Men,  brothers — many  winters  gone 

There  was  no  land,  nor  rising  sun, 

Nor  moon,  nor  stars  :  all,  all  was  night. 

By  the  Great  Spirit's  ancient  might 

All  things  were  made.     The  pale-men's  home 

He  gave  beyond  the  ocean  foam  : 

These  hunting  grounds  he  stored  with  game 

For  his  red  children.     Honor,  fame, 

Was  theirs  in  peace,  and  theirs  in  war : 

By  lake,  and  stream,  and  hills  afar, 

And  boundless  plains,  from  age  to  age, 

How  glorious  was  their  heritage  !" 

XIV. 

Each  eye  was  fired,  each  bosom  shook, 

More  fixed  became  each  earnest  look. — 

"  Great  Spirit !  o'er  the  wide  salt  sea 

We  deemed  the  pale-face  sent  from  thee, 

And  we  rejoiced. — O  fatal  joy  ! 

O  trust  reposed  but  to  destroy  ! 

Where,  red-men,  is  the  banded  pride 

By  Rappahannock's  rushing  tide, 

And  old  Potomac  ?     Where  the  power, 

That,  like  a  storm,  was  wont  to  lower 

On  the  dark  Alleghanies  1 — Naught, 

Except  the  fields  whereon  they  fought, 

Is  left  to  tell !     Like  worthless  stones, 

The  white-man's  plough  upturns  their  bones  ! — 

Where  are  the  Lenape,  leagued  and  strong 

A  thousand  watery  vales  among  1 — 

By  many  a  strange  and  distant  shore 

They  wander  and  return  no  more  ! — 

What  are  the  ancient  tribes,  and  brave, 

That  dwelt  along  the  eastern  wave  ? — 

A  name  !     A  mournful  memory  ! — 

And  what  are  those  that  loved  to  be 


264  TECUMSEH. 

Among  the  valleys  and  the  hills 
Of  Mohawk  and  green  Katterskills, 
That  passed  the  silvery  Horicon, 
And  hunted  northern  heights  upon, 
And  by  Ontario's  billowy  marge, 
Or  storm-robed  Erie,  roamed  at  large  1 — 
Their  graves  remain  1 — And  who  need  say 
How  passed  the  Natches'  power  away, 
Murdered  among  their  sacred  fires  1 
O  Sun,  the  worshipped  of  their  sires, 
When  wilt  thou  see,  at  thy  return, 
Thine  offerings  on  their  altars  burn  ! 
— But  fell  all  these  unfought,  unfeared  1 — 
No  !  warriors,  no !     Who  hath  not  heard 
Of  proud  Powhatan,  and  the  dread 
Of  O-pe-chan-ca-nough  1     They  shed 
The  stranger's  blood,  till  earth  was  red  ! 
And  who  knows  not  of  Metacom, 
Long  struggling  for  his  rocky  home  1 
And,  more  than  all,  the  lord  of  slaughters, 
Great  Pontiac,  ruler  of  broad  waters  1 
At  name  of  him,  both  far  and  near, 
The  pale-face  paler  grew  with  fear  ! 

xv. 

Tecumseh  saw  in  flaming  eyes 

Pride,  sorrow,  scorn,  and  rage  arise, 

While  strained  hands  to  their  daggers  stole, 

And  deeper  poured  his  burning  soul : 

"  O  red-men  !  what  are  we  to  do, 

When  thus  our  fathers  slew  the  foe  ? 

Are  we  less  brave  1     Who  here  will  own 

A  coward  in  a  warrior's  son  ? 

— Yet  peace  is  urged. — What !  where  they  died 

In  vengeance  mid  the  battle's  tide 

For  this  their  native  land,  shall  we 

In  tameness  with  the  usurpers  be  1 


TECTJMSEH.  2 

—But  they  are  countless — clouds  of  heaven- 
Waves  of  the  deep — by  strife  are  given 
But  tombs  to  us,  while  they  remain. — 
O  false  regard  !  compassion  vain  ! 
Speak  !  mighty  dead  of  race  unknown, 
That  sleep  beneath  !  When,  ages  gone, 
Your  land,  like  waves,  strange  nations  reft, 
Fought  ye  not  long,  till  none  was  left  1 
Speak  !  mouldering  dust  of  red-men  near  ! 
Shall  our  poor  life  be  shame  and  fear  ] — 
And  what  if  peace  were  lovely  1  Where 
These  pale  insatiate  strangers  are, 
There  is  no  peace  for  us,  no  rest, 
Except  upon  our  mother's  breast ! 
We  shall  but  live  despised,  undone, 
Till  pushed  from  being,  one  by  one, 
To  graves  of  scorn  !     Thou  setting  Sun, 
Say  not  in  Islands  of  the  Blest, 
Their  sons  are  meek,  though  spurned,  oppressed  ! 
Tell  not  to  after  times,  thy  race 
Chose  thus  to  die  by  long  disgrace  ! 

XVI. 

O  red-men  !  'tis  to  you  I  call ! 
Why  should  it  thus  your  souls  appal, 
That  power  allied  has  been  o'erthrown  1 
That  ye  at  last  may  war  alone  ? 
Say  is  not  this  your  native  land  ? 
Do  not  the  forests  round  ye  stand ! 
Master  of  life  !  shall  we  resign 
Thy  gifts  to  other  hands  than  thine  ! 
Warriors,  I  know  that  I  shall  fall. 
What  then  1     It  is  my  country's  call. 
It  is  not  death  revenged  to  die : 
Death  is  to  live  in  infamy  ! 
Who  loves  a  few  inglorious  years 
Of  coward  peace  and  craven  fears 
22* 


TECUMSEH. 

And  injuries  too  deep  for  tears — 
Here  let  him  rest !  Who  hopes  to  be 
Past  death  renowned  immortally, 
And  hates  the  wrongs,  the  ills  of  life, 
Follow  Tecumseh  to  the  strife  !" 

XVII. 

Aloud  he  cried,  and  whirling  threw 
His  hatchet's  gleam  the  dimness  through, 
And,  bounding  o'er  the  moveless  dead, 
Pursued  the  whistling  flight  it  sped, 
While  all  the  throng  tumultous  rose, 
With  tossing  arms,  and  tempest  brows, 
And  shouts,  and  yells,  and  menaced  blows. 
Far  fixed  within  that  slender  trunk 
The  sharp  axe  shook  not  where  it  sunk  ; 
Then,  seizing  from  the  fire  a  brand, 
He  hurled  it  with  impetuous  hand 
Beneath  that  fuel  piled  and  dry, 
And,  as  the  flames  rose  wreathing  high, 
And  brooding  Night  her  pinions  spread, 
Around  them  moved,  with  lifted  head. 
And  chanted  song,  and  quickening  tread  ; 
While  close,  to  utmost  phrenzy  strung, 
Behind  him  fast  fierce  warriors  sprung, 
Till  all,  each  thought  in  madness  merged, 
Untired  their  savage  orgies  urged. 

XVIII. 

As,  when  a  burning  vessel,  tost 
On  Norway's  stern,  tempestuous  coast, 
Is  drawn  at  night,  with  plunge  and  roll, 
Into  the  Maelstrom's  mighty  pool, 
Lighting  the  deep,  the  seamen  there, 
Through  minds  made  frantic  by  despair, 


TECUMSEH.  267 

On  all  the  vortex  vast  and  dim, 

See  fiends  around  them,  strange  and  grim, 

That  laugh,  and  dance,  and  yell,  and  swing, 

And  furious  gestures  toward  them  fling, 

Now  borne  through  glare,  now  darkness  dun, 

As  swift  the  dizzy  circles  run  : 

So  by  that  fire  and  blazing  tree, 

Whose  topmost  boughs  flamed  fearfully, 

With  tufted  head,  and  frightful  mien, 

Five  thousand  dusky  forms  were  seen, 

The  young,  the  old,  dark  haired  and  gray, 

All  painted  in  their  war-array, 

As  wild  beneath  the  shadowy  night, 

Through  forest  gloom  or  flashing  light, 

In  thronging  rage  around  and  round 

Upon  the  hard  and  beaten  ground, 

With  fiendish  gestures  fiercely  flung, 

They  whooped,  and  swayed,  and  whirled,  and  swung, 

Their  loose  locks  on  the  night-wind  streaming 

Their  sharp  knives  in  the  red  light  gleaming, 

Each  swelling  high  his  own  rude  song, 

That  rang  the  deep,  dim  woods  along, 

And  striking  oft,  with  furious  blow, 

In  every  burning  brand  a  foe. 

But  rose  o'er  all  their  mingled  noise 

Tecumseh's  sweet  and  lofty  voice. 

XIX. 
WAR    SONG    OF    TECUMSEH. 

"  I  hear  the  sound  of  the  battle  ! 
Sharp  are  my  arrows  made  : 
Bright  is  my  hatchet's  blade. 

But  they  shall  be  red 

In  the  blood  of  the  dead, 
Mangled  and  low  with  his  war-horse  laid  ! 


268  TECUMSEH. 

God  of  the  battle,  hear  ! 
In  the  hour  of  the  strife  be  near, 
With  wrath,  revenge,  and  fear  ! 
Sound  the  loud  whoop  ! 

"  I  see  the  rush  of  the  battle  ! 
Tecumseh  will  soon  be  there, 
With  his  arm  and  his  bosom  bare. 
He  never  hath  quailed, 
Nor  his  hand  ever  failed — 
When  his  foemen  behold  him  they  fly  in  despair ! 
God  of  the  battle,  haste  ! 
If  the  red-man's  day  be  past, 
Let  Rage  and  Havoc  waste, 
While  comes  the  night ! 

"  I  smell  the  carnage  of  battle  ! 
Terrible  is  the  strife, 
Where  gushes  the  tide  of  life  ! 
But  'tis  joy,  as  we  sink, 
Of  the  red  stream  to  drink, 
That  warms  from  a  foeman  our  hatchet  and  knife  ! 
God  of  the  battle  heed  ! 
Let  the  rolling  conflict  bleed, 
With  the  groan  and  the  shrieking  steed, 
Till  Vengeance  tire  ! 

"  Ha  !  ha !  the  battle  's  around  me  ! 
Who  is  afraid  to  die, 
When  he  with  his  foe  may  lie  1 
Thus,  thus  my  blow  [Striking  the  brands.] 

Hews  down  the  foe  ! 

From  the  graves  of  our  fathers  we  never  will  fly  ! 
God  of  the  battle,  hear  ! 
Tecumseh  knows  not  fear  ! 
Though  the  hour  of  my  fate  be  near, 
O  Death,  I  come  !" 


TECUMSEH.  269 


XX. 

Still  wheeled  the  dance,  when  suddenly 

Without  their  circle  rose  a  cry, 

And  through  their  midst  with  shouts  was  borne 

A  single  pale-face,  wan  and  worn. 

'Twas  Moray.     Near  that  fearful  place 

Had  led  the  trail  they  sought  to  trace  ; 

And,  stealing  towards  that  streaming  light, 

They  lurked  around,  if  to  their  sight, 

Amid  those  scenes  of  fury  there, 

The  loved,  the  lost,  might  chance  appear. 

A  bright  flash  Moray's  face  betrayed, 

But,  mingling,  in  the  shifting  shade, 

With  thronging  braves  of  hue  his  own, 

The  dusky  Huron  stood  unknown. 

XXI. 

When  there  Ken-hat-ta-wa,  whose  hate, 

Despite  his  daughter  saved  from  fate, 

Could  never  in  his  soul  abate, 

Beheld  that  face,  his  sudden  yell, 

As  if  from  out  the  mouth  of  Hell, 

Startled  the  heavens.     With  grasp  so  strong, 

It  might  an  arm  of  steel  have  wrung, 

He  seized  his  foe.     "  Thine  hour  is  come  !" 

He  cried  exulting.     "  Room  !  make  room, 

Brave  warriors  !  Lo  !  a  spy  !  a  spy  ! 

The  traitor  chieftain  !     Let  him  die  I" 

He  spake,  and  shouts  of  joy  replied. 

"Stay  !"  aged  Nidi  Wyan  cried, 

With  faltering  words  and  earnest  look, 

That  anxious  love  and  fear  bespoke. 

"  He  is  no  spy.     We  must  not  stain 

Our  cause  with  blood  of  traveller  slain  !" — 

"  A  traveller?     Did  not  Wyan  make 

This  wretch,  beside  the  Stormy  Lake, 


270  TECUMSEH. 

Adopted  son  ?     And  when  at  last 
Fixed  foes  the  fiery  oath  had  passed, 
Long  war  in  leagued  revenge  to  wage 
For  all  the  red-man's  heritage, 
Did  he  not  then  a  recreant  stand, 
A  pale-face  still  in  heart  and  hand  1" 
"Ay  !"  added  suddenly  De  Vere, 
Advancing  nigh,  with  fiendish  sneer — 
For  he  was  there  to  take  away 
Resolves  of  that  eventful  day  : 
"Ay  !  and  his  limbs  the  dungeon's  chain 
Have  borne,  for  base  attempts  to  gain 
Your  free  tribes,  far  as  wild-deer  roams, 
To  war  among  the  red-man's  homes. 
Vile  traitor,  convict,  spy,  and  liar, 
What  doth  he  here  1     Such  crimes  require 
The  torturing  steel — consuming  fire  !" 

XXII. 

"  Wretch  !"  Moray  shrieked,  and  strove  to  wring 

His  arms  away,  and  forward  spring  : 

"  Thou  falsest  murderer  !  Where  is  now 

The  dear,  the  faded  one,  whom  thou 

Hast  torn  from  me?"— "Fond  fool!  she's  drowned!"- 

The  captive's  brain  spun  darkly  round : 

"  How  did  I  dream  !  I  thought  'twas  she, 

Through  battle's  roar  that  spoke  to  me  !" 

And  in  each  face  that,  peering,  leaned, 

And  mocked  at  him,  he  viewed  a  fiend. 

Tecumseh  saw,  and  sought  to  prove 

Again  his  gratitude  and  love. 

"  Hear,  warriors,"  cried  he,  calmly  stern  : 

"  In  cause  so  great,  ye  ought  to  learn, 

Such  mean  and  petty  cruelty 

Is  not  revenge.     He  must  not  die. 

The  Great  Manitto  in  his  wrath 

Will  fill  with  graves  our  battle-path. 


TECUMSEH.  271 

Reserve  your  souls  for  fields  of  slaughter, 
Then  spill  the  white-man's  blood  like  water !" 

xxm. 

The  Ottowa  turned.    His  visage,  torn 

With  rage,  hate,  triumph,  infinite  scorn, 

Glared  horrible  :  "  Ho  !  ho  !  what  art, 

What  charm  hath  changed  Tecumseh's  heart? 

The  Indian's  wrongs  his  tongue  could  tell 

In  words  most  eloquently  well. 

Milk-livered  now,  he  spends  his  breath 

To  save  a  pale-faced  spy  from  death ! — 

Up  with  the  stake  !     Lo  !  let  him  burn  ! 

The  red-man's  glory  shall  return  !" 

"Yes  !"  added  Els-kwa-ta-wa  near 

With  silvery  voice  : — "  Great  Spirit,  hear  ! 

Hast  thou  not  giv'n  this  victim's  life 

To  steel  our  warriors  for  the  strife  ?" 

From  all  the  dark  tumultuous  throng 

Glad  yellings  through  the  forest  rung  ; 

And,  looking  in  their  eyes  that  hour, 

Tecumseh  knew,  an  angry  power 

Was  raised  which  he  might  not  withstand. 

He  stood  and  waved  his  dusky  hand, 

While  quailed  at  his  indignant  glance 

The  Prophet's  cruel  countenance  : 

"  Chiefs,  warriors — act  your  will ;  but  I 

Will  not  behold  a  wanderer  die. 

Let  all,  whose  hands  and  hearts  are  one 

To  do  as  have  our  fathers  done, 

Seek  Maiden  ere  the  morrow  fades." 

He  spake  and  plunged  through  circling  shades. 

XXIV. 

Then  rose  fierce  cries.     Some,  hurrying  round, 
Gather  from  all  th'  autumnal  ground 


272  TECUMSEH. 

Dry  roots  and  broken  boughs,  to  raise 

The  torturing  pyre.     For  swifter  blaze, 

Others  the  twisted  knots  untwine 

Of  hemlock  and  the  pitchy  pine, 

Or  sharp  and  gummy  splints  prepare, 

To  thrust  beneath  his  sinews  bare, 

And  make  them,  each  a  kindled  torch, 

Through  quivering  gashes  blaze  and  scorch  ; 

While  others  throng  with  taunting  cries, 

Or  laugh  into  his  aching  eyes, 

And  tell  him  how  the  fiery  pains 

Shall  dart  and  live  along  his  veins. 

The  stake  was  driven,  and  by  its  side, 

With  strong  green  withs,  the  victim  tied  ; 

Then,  piling  round  with  eager  hands 

The  fuel  near,  bright,  burning  brands 

The  Prophet  and  the  Ottowa  brought, 

And  whooped  to  see  the  flames  were  caught. 


When,  bluely  creeping  first  below, 
Began  their  wreaths  to  circle  slow, 
And  with  their  lurid  gleamings  glared 
O'er  painted  face  and  bosoms  bared, 
With  knives  and  hatchets  crowding  nigh, 
They  flashed  their  terrors  in  his  eye, 
And  drew  their  edge  his  brows  between, 
And  grazed  his  cheek  with  arrows  keen, 
While  gazing  stood  De  Vere  apart, 
With  folded  arms,  exultant  heart, 
To  see  him  die  a  coward's  son  ; 
But  never  seemed  he  once  to  shun 
By  start  or  look  the  fiery  fate, 
That  did  his  forfeit  life  await, 
But  nerved  his  soul  for  tortures  ready, 
And  kept  his  eye  unblenched  and  steady, 


TECUMSEH.  273 

Though  more  of  paleness  than  was  wont 
Appeared  along  his  marble  front. 
Strange,  fearful  scene  !     The  Huron  near, 
What  was  it  to  his  eye  and  ear  1 
The  flying  clouds,  the  struggling  moon, 
The  winds  that  swept  with  wail  and  groan, 
The  battling  trees,  the  gleaming  light 
On  hoary  trunks  and  trailing  night, 
The  victim  bound,  the  climbing  flame, 
The  shapes  that  danced,  the  bending  frame 
Of  Els-kwa-ta-wa's  wizard  power — 
All  things  recalled  that  anguished  hour, 
When,  rolled  in  scorn  and  leaping  fire, 
Passed  the  grim  spirit  of  his  sire. 
If  now  his  hand  forbore  to  slay, 
'Twas  but  Revenge's  stern  delay ! 

xxvi. 

Heaven  help  thee,  captive  ! — Hurrying  hands 
Lit  torturing  splints  amid  the  brands, 
While  sharp  knives  sought  his  sinewy  frame 
Wherein  to  plant  the  eating  flame — 
Lo  !  like  the  moon  through  midnight  cloud, 
There  struggled  through  that  dusky  crowd 
A  pale,  fair  girl.     Her  wildered  gaze 
Beheld  him  bound.     Through  smoke  and  blaze 
She  sprung  before  those  daggers  bare, 
And  stood  beside  the  victim  there, 
As  if  an  angel  from  above 
Should  come  to  save  her  martyr  love  ! 
••  My  Mary  !"  gasped  the  youth — "  with  thee 
I  hoped  so  soon  in  Heaven  to  be  ! — 
How  art  thou  here  !" — Her  agony 
No  answer  gave,  but  falling  low 
She  raised  those  eyes,  that  faded  brow, 
And  clasped  the  Ottowa's  hard  red  hand  : 
"  O  spare  !"  she  cried,  nor  could  command 
23 


274  TECUMSEH. 

One  accent  more,  but  "  spare  !  O  spare  !" 

Mid  fierce,  dark  faces  thronging  there 

The  savage  gazed  on  her  distress, 

Yet  did  his  pitying  heart  repress  : 

*'  It  may  not  be.     His  life  belongs 

To  my  deep  hate,  the  red-man's  wrongs. 

But  thou,  poor  bird  !  shalt  dwell  with  me  !"— 

She  started  from  her  trembling  knee 

Before  De  Vere  :  "  O  save  his  life 

And  I,  yes  !  I  will  be  thy  wife — 

Thy  love — thy  slave — whate'er  thou  wilt, 

Till  death,  that  is  not  shame  and  guilt  I" 

XXVII. 

"  O  never  thus  I"  from  Moray  broke, 
Convulsively  through  stifling  smoke  : 
"  Be  strown  my  ashes  far  and  wide, 
But  be  not  thou  a  murderer's  bride  !" — 
"  I  must !— I  will ! — Thou  may'st  not  die  !" 
"  Dear  girl,  I  swear,"  exultingly 
De  Vere  exclaimed,  "  he  shall  not  perish  ! — 
Great  chief,  revenge  no  longer  cherish. 
Behold — the  maiden  yields  her  mind  !" 
"  And  what  to  me  is  wish  of  thine  ?" 
The  haughty  Indian  asked.     "  He  dies, 
Though  thou  shouldst  share  his  agonies  !" — 
"  Then  will  I  cause  that  never  more 
Your  rights  shall  England's  arm  restore  !" 
Was  given  De  Vere's  enraged  reply. — 
"  Ho  ! — think'st,  I  deem  thy  power  so  high  ? 
And  if  it  were,  go,  tell  your  chief, 
That  small  will  be  the  red-men's  grief, 
If  they  no  more  allies  may  keep, 
Who  cannot  hold  the  land  nor  deep  ! 
And  say,  'tis  not  our  rights  to  save, 
They  bear  them  o'er  the  ocean  wave, 


TECUMSEH.  275 

And  that  alone  we'll  fight  the  foe, 

While  suns  shall  rise,  or  rivers  flow  ! 

And  for  thyself — beware  !  This  maid 

Thou  stol'st  from  me  through  midnight  shade  : 

Touch  her  again,  thy  own  false  life 

Shall  redden  on  my  reeking  knife  !" 

"  Nay  !"  Wyan  urged  "  be  vengeance  stayed  !" 

"Mount,  clinging  fire  !"  the  Prophet  prayed. 

"  O  spare  him  ! — spare  !" — the  maiden  cried  : 

<v  Death  !  death  !"  a  thousand  yells  replied. 

XXVIII. 

All  this  was  but  a  moment.     Flame 
Had  reached  the  victim's  shrinking  frame 
And  drank  its  dew  with  furnace  breath. 
"  Then  will  I  go  with  thee  in  death  !" 
The  poor  girl  murmured,  calm  the  while, 
And  turned  to  fling  her  on  the  pile — 
As  sweeps  the  storm  through  mountain  glen, 
Whose  coming  not  an  eye  may  ken, 
There  burst  his  way,  in  terror's  robe, 
Flung  wild  as  clouds  that  wrap  the  globe, 
A  warrior-god  !  His  naked  breast, 
Bare  arms  and  face  were  fiercely  drest 
In  colors  strange  ;  his  gleaming  plume 
Waved,  shaken  o'er  his  brow  of  gloom, 
And,  underneath,  his  angry  eye 
Shone  like  a  meteor  !     Bounding  high, 
He  swept  his  course  with  war-club  swung, 
Beside  the  pyre  of  torture  sprung, 
And,  seizing  thence,  with  furious  hands 
Hurled  wide  and  fast  the  blazing  brands, 
Till,  dizzy  with  their  dazzling  glare, 
No  eye  beheld  the  actor  there, 
And,  when  they  woke  from  that  surprise, 
He  nor  the  victim  met  their  eyes. 


876  TECUMSEH. 


XXIX. 

How  brightly  stole  the  mantling  Morn 

Over  the  wilderness  !     Return, 

O  joy-restorer  !  where  thou  wilt, 

Thou  gladdenest  all  but  grief  and  guilt. 

— To  Moray's  or  Tecumseh's  breast 

It  vainly  glowed,  that  reddening  east. 

Still  mournfully,  and  mute,  and  fast 

Through  early-falling  leaves  they  passed, 

Nor  ever  stopped,  nor  heeded  aught, 

As  if  their  being  were  but  thought, 

Though  full  was  all  the  forest  there 

Of  things  most  beautiful  and  rare. 

But  when  the  morning  sun  was  high, 

They  did  a  hovering  form  espy 

Upon  a  distant  hill ;  and  soon 

O-wa-o-la,  beneath  the  noon, 

Hailed  them  with  joy.     Then  forward  pressed 

The  three,  till,  veering  from  the  West, 

From  rising  ground  their  sweeping  view 

Surveyed  afar  the  boundless  blue 

Of  Erie's  wave — a  glorious  scene, 

With  silent  forests  all  between  ! 

xxx. 

Some  moments  did  the  chieftain's  eye 
Wander  o'er  water,  wood  and  sky, 
Then  thus  he  spoke  :  "  Behold  yon  lake. 
Eastward  its  shore  thy  steps  will  take, 
Till  thou  the  white-man's  dwelling  see. 
Say — hath  the  Shawnee  faithfully 
Redeemed  the  life-pledge  giv'n  to  thee  ?" — 
"Ay  !"  Moray  cried,  "  as  here  I  stand  !" 
And  grasped  with  tears  the  chieftain's  hand. 
•*  'Tis  well :  yet  know — "  his  bare  arm  swept 
The  whole  w  de  scene,  that  round  them  slept — 


TECUMSEH.  277 

"  Yet,  pale-face,  know,  thy  life  will  cost 
To  these  fair  lands  a  battle  lost 
Tecuraseh  hath  his  warriors  crossed, 
And  angry  hands  will  break  the  chain 
His  words  had  linked  our  rights  to  gain. 
Ay,  look  around  thee  !     Fair  they  lie  ! 
Is  it  not  well  for  such  to  die  1 
— /  fall :  but  when  within  thy  breast 
Thy  lost  and  wearied  dove  shall  rest, 
Tell  sometimes,  in  the  years  to  be, 
How  much  the  Indian  gave  for  thee." 
He  turned,  and  soon,  the  forest  through, 
His  stately  form  was  lost  to  view. 

XXXI. 

Then  eastward  by  the  breezy  lake 
Their  course  the  twain  in  silence  take, 
Till  from  the  forest's  deep  repose 
Sandusky's  simple  dwellings  rose. 
Why  stay  the  Huron's  steps  ]  and  why 
So  troubled  seems  his  thoughtful  eye  1 — 
"  My  brother,"  with  a  faltering  tone 
The  youth  began,  "  in  wanderings  lone, 
Lo  !  now  for  many  moons,  with  thee 
O-wa-o-la  has  loved  to  be. 
We  've  bowed  beside  the  same  cool  brook — 
Of  the  same  food  our  hands  partook — 
Our  eyes  have  drunk  the  same  sweet  light — 
One  leafy  couch  was  ours  at  night, 
And  both  alike  Manitto's  power 
Hath  guarded  through  the  midnight  hour. 
But  now  we  part.  Wilt  thou  forget 
The  Huron,  when  his  sun  is  set  ?" 
"What  mean'st  thou  ]"  Moray  wondering  cried. 
"  We  will  not  part,  thou  truest  guide, 
Through  toils,  through  griefs,  through  dangers  tried !" 
23* 


278  TECUMSEH. 

Hie  head  the  Huron  sadly  shook  : 

"  Brother — yon  setting  sun  may  look 

Upon  the  wigwams  of  thy  race, — 

But  where's  the  red-man's  dwelling-place  1 

In  mere  remembrance  of  the  homes 

Which  once  were  ours,  the  conflict  comes, 

And  now  is  near  !     Oneirah's  son 

May  not  such  field  of  battle  shun." 

The  earnest  parting  grasp  was  wrung, 

Yet  seemed,  as  lingered  on  his  tongue 

Some  word  unuttered.     Slow  he  turned, 

But  checked  his  steps,  while  deeper  burned 

His  flushed  brown  cheek  :  "  If  thou  shalt  see 

Omeena,  when  I  cease  to  be, 

Tell  her,  my  heart"— he  faltered  then— 

"  Tell  her,  with  throngs  of  warrior-men 

The  Huron  braved  the  battle's  swell, 

And  fighting  for  his  country  fell." 

He  ceased,  nor  more  his  parting  stayed  ; 

And  deeper  grief  on  Moray  weighed, 

For  never  yet  on  earth  but  one 

So  dear  unto  his  heart  had  grown. 

XXXII. 

Now  loud  the  shores  of  Erie  rang 

With  anvil,  axe,  and  armor's  clang, 

And  all  the  busy  stir  that  wakes, 

Where  War,  with  giant  footstep,  shakes 

The  trampled  earth. — Days  glided  by. 

As  flushed  with  recent  victory, 

The  corded  sails  with  prouder  sweep 

Had  borne  across  the  rocking  deep 

Invading  armies  ;  hostile  coasts 

Had  quaked  with  tramp  of  moving  hosts  ; 

From  smoking  holds  and  fortress  fired 

The  foe  had  sullenly  retired  ; 

And  up  swift  Thames  was  urged  apace 

The  anxious  flight,  the  eager  chase, 


TECUMSEH.  279 

While  ever  mid  the  wilds  appear 

The  stealthy  Indians,  hovering  near. 

And  all  the  time,  by  wood  and  waste, 

Had  Moray  with  the  army  passed  ; 

For  something  whispered,  treacherous  feet 

Would  haste  the  maid  with  that  retreat. 

XXXIII. 

Within  a  wood  extending  wide 

By  Thames's  steeply  winding  side, 

There  sat  upon  a  fallen  tree, 

Grown  green  through  ages  silently, 

An  Indian  girl.     The  gradual  change 

Making  all  things  most  sweetly  strange, 

Had  come  again.     The  autumn  sun, 

Half  up  his  morning  journey,  shone 

With  conscious  lustre,  calm  and  still ; 

By  dell,  and  plain,  and  sloping  hill 

Stood  mute  the  faded  trees,  in  grief, 

As  various  as  their  clouded  leaf. 

With  all  the  hues  of  sunset  skies 

Were  stamped  the  maple's  mourning  dies  ; 

In  meeker  sorrow  in  the  vale 

The  gentle  ash  was  drooping  pale  ; 

Brown-seared  the  walnut  raised  its  head, 

The  oak  displayed  a  lifeless  red ; 

And  grouping  bass  and  white-wood  hoar 

Sadly  their  yellow  honors  bore  ; 

And  silvered  birch  and  poplar  rose 

With  foliage  gray  and  weeping  boughs  ; 

But  elm  and  stubborn  beech  retained 

Some  verdant  lines,  though  crossed  and  stained, 

And  by  the  river's  side  were  seen 

Hazel  and  willow  palely  green, 

While  in  the  woods,  by  bank  and  stream 

And  hollows  shut  from  day-light  gleam, 


280  TECUMSEH. 

Where  tall  trees  wept  their  freshening  dews, 
Each  shrub  preserved  its  summer  hues. 
Nor  this  alone.     From  branch  and  trunk 
The  withered  wild-vines  coldly  shrunk, 
The  wood-land  fruits  hung  ripe  or  dry, 
The  leaf-strown  brook  flowed  voiceless  by ; 
And  all  throughout,  nor  dim  nor  bright, 
There  lived  a  rare  and  wondrous  light, 
Wherein  the  colored  leaves  around 
Fell  noiselessly  ;  nor  any  sound, 
Save  chattering  squirrels  on  the  trees, 
Or  dropping  nuts,  when  stirred  the  breeze, 
Might  there  be  heard  ;  and,  floating  high, 
Were  light  clouds  borne  along  the  sky, 
And,  scarcely  seen,  in  heaven's  deep  blue 
One  solitary  eagle  flew. 

xxxiv. 

But  these  the  maiden  heeded  nought, 
Watching  afar.     What  form  hath  caught 
The  gaze  of  her  expectant  eye  1 
She  sprung  not  forth  with  joyous  cry, 
As  drew  that  stately  warrior  near, 
But  rising,  with  the  look  most  dear 
To  one  beloved,  his  hand  she  pressed 
Gently  and  sadly  to  her  breast. 
His  wavy  plume  the  chief  unbound 
And  laid  it  glittering  on  the  ground  ; 
Then,  sitting  on  that  mossy  tree, 
And  gazing  forth,  where  silently, 
Just  seen,  the  swift  bright  river  ran, 
Their  converse  low  they  thus  began. 
"  The  Ottowa  deems  his  daughter's  feet 
Stray  where  the  Great  Lake's  billows  beat. 
Why  hath  the  maiden  left  her  home  ?"— 
"  Omeena's  heart  had  bid  her  come." — 


TECUMSEH.  281 

"  That  thus  Tecumseh's  breast  by  thee 
Grow  soft,  when  it  should  sternest  be  ?" — 
"  Nay — but  to  gird  thy  war-belt  on, 
And  meet  thee  when  the  battle's  done  ?" — 
"  Meet  me  1 — Alas  !  thou'lt  find  me  laid 
Among  the  voiceless  slain,  sweet  maid  ! 
My  sire,  in  dreams,  hath  told  me  so." 
"  Then  who  so  well,  for  thee  laid  low," 
The  maiden  said,  with  faltering  breath, 
"  Could  sigh  the  mourning  song  of  death  ?" 
His  eyes  the  chieftain  turned  away, 
Lest  he  some  rising  tear  display, 
Then  from  his  bosom  took  the  shell, 
Wherewith  was  proved  his  love  so  well : 
"  Behold — this  token  bade  me  take 
From  prison  bars  and  fiery  stake 
Thy  rescuer  from  a  watery  grave. 
Thou  hast  again  the  pledge  I  gave." 
"  Did  not  Omeena  know,  our  minds 
Were  as  the  mingling  autumn  winds, 
That  breathe  together  ?     Dear  to  her, 
And  thee,  was  that  pale  wanderer !" 

xxxv. 

Mournfully  in  his  hands,  and  low, 

The  warrior  bowed  his  thoughtful  brow  : 

"  'Tis  done — 'tis  well — why  should  regret 

Cumber  so  fair  a  deed  ? — and  yet, 

Through  anger,  girl,  for  victim  taken 

By  thousands  was  our  cause  forsaken  !" — 

"  O  would  he  ne'er  had  saved  my  life  ! 

Thou  hadst  been  free  for  this  great  strife !" — 

He  raised  again  that  sullen  face, 

And  pressed  her  with  a  fond  embrace  : 

"  Nay,  gentlest ! — Be  the  loss  most  dear, 

Flower  of  my  heart !  for  thou  art  here  !" — 

"  But  numbers  still  with  thee  remain  ? 


TECUMSEH. 

The  conflict  will  not  be  in  vain  1" — 

"  Nay,  trembling  at  a  hostile  tread, 

Our  allies'  dastard  chief  has  fled, 

And  tribes  in  scorn  have  gone  away, 

Till  now  their  country's  sole  array 

Is  one  poor  thousand  !— Be  it  so  !" 

He  cried  with  sudden  start.     "  We'll  go 

With  stronger  arm,  with  firmer  soul ! 

More  terrible  shall  the  conflict  roll ! 

We'll  fight — our  mountains  round  us  stand  ! 

We'll  fight — our  streams  are  on  each  hand  ! 

We'll  fight  for  our  beloved  land  ! 

Great  Spirit !  from  our  field  of  death 

Thou  wilt  receive  the  warrior's  breath  !" 

xxxvi. 

He  gazed  on  her — his  bosom  shook  : 

"  Tis  sweet  upon  thy  face  to  look, 

Bird  of  the  wild-wood !  I  shall  be 

Soon  but  a  memory  to  thee  ! 

But  thou  wilt  make  some  happier  choice  : 

Another  shall  thy  youth  rejoice." 

She  looked  down  with  a  tear  and  sigh, 

She  looked  up  with  a  flashing  eye  : 

"  When  sinks  the  sun,  doth  any  light 

Make  glad  the  lingering  cloud  of  night  ? 

'Twere  better  far  to  go  with  him, 

Than  stray  so  lonely  and  so  dim  !" 

Her  dread  resolve  Tecumseh  spied 

With  mournful  joy  :  "  Thou  art,"  he  cried, 

"  Indeed  a  warrior's  love  ! — but  hark  !— 

Th'  accursed  drum  ! — and  yonder  mark 

Pursuing  banners  !  See  them  wheel, 

With  prancing  steed  and  glistening  steel ! 

Far  up,  where  wild  morasses  wide 

Extend  them  near  the  river's  side 

They  shall  be  humbled  !— Now  we  part  !" 

Calmly,  yet  with  a  struggling  heart, 


TECUMSEH.  283 

He  rose,  his  bright  plume  slowly  raised, 

O'er  wood  and  sky  a  moment  gazed," 

A  moment  looked  in  her  dark  eye, 

Then  turned  him  quick  and  silently. 
As  passed  his  form  from  view,  the  maiden  bowed 
Her  head  in  tears,  ev'n  like  an  April  cloud. 

XXXVII. 

The  sun  in  deeper  redness  glows, 

Beyond  his  mid-day  tower  ; 
No  breeze  along  the  forest  blows, 
How  smooth  and  dark  yon  river  flows  1 
Yon  green  morass,  how  hushed  and  close  ! — 

Dead  seems  the  sullen  hour  ! 
But  see  through  stirless  trees  the  gleam 

Of  burnished  arms  appear  ! 
Rifle,  and  belt,  and  bayonet's  beam, 
And  bright  swords  flashing  on  the  stream, 

And  brazen  cannon  near  ! 
Yet  they  that  bear — how  dumb  they  stand, 
From  low  morass  to  river's  strand, 

In  still  and  stern  array  ! 
They  speak  no  word,  they  lift  no  hand, 

They  move  no  step  away  ! 
Their  plumes  are  waved  not  in  the  air, 

Their  pennons  droop  oppressed, 
The  very  winds  are  breathless  there, 

The  coursing  clouds  at  rest ! 
There's  nought  that  stirs,  above,  below, 
Save  that  deep  stream  with  noiseless  flow, 

And,  marked  by  every  eye, 
One  eagle,  circling,  wide  and  slow, 

The  dimmed  and  silent  sky. 
That  army  wait,  with  bird  and  brute 
And  nature  round  them,  hushed  and  mute, 
As  when  afar  with  fearful  dooms, 
The  terrible  tornado  glooms. 


284  TECUMSEH. 


XXXVIII. 

Hark  to  the  trumpet  and  the  drum  ! 

Hark  to  the  tramp  of  Mars  ! 
So  fast  yon  fiery  legions  come, 
Though  all  the  air  be  stilled  and  dumb, 

Wide  wave  their  bannered  stars  ! 
A  thousand  horse  in  rank  arrayed, 
With  beamy  crest  and  brandished  blade, 

Rushed  like  the  tempest-wind ; 
With  bristling  steel,  but  clangor  stayed, 
Moved,  like  that  whirlwind's  dreadful  shade, 

Two  thousand  foot  behind. 
"  Halt !"  rang  on  their  impetuous  speed 

The  shout  their  leader  gave  ; 
And,  while  at  once  the  foot  recede, 
Each  rider  sat  his  restless  steed, 

As  rock  above  the  wave. 
"  Behold  the  foe  in  order  wide, 

Like  field  of  autumn  corn  ! 
Death  be  the  reaper  !     Side  by  side, 
While  half  your  ranks  the  marshes  ride, 
Upon  them,  horsemen  '.—Charge  !"  he  cried, 

With  blast  of  bugle-horn. 
Forth  at  the  peal  each  charger  sped, 
The  hard  earth  shook  beneath  their  tread, 
The  dim  woods,  all  around  them  spread, 

Shone  with  their  armor's  light : 
Yet  in  those  stern,  still  lines  assailed 
No  eye-ball  shrank,  no  bosom  quailed, 

No  foot  was  turned  for  flight ; 
But,  thundering  as  their  foemen  came, 
Each  rifle  flashed  its  deadly  flame. 
A  moment  then  recoil  and  rout, 
With  reeling  horse  and  struggling  shout, 

Confused  that  onset  fair ; 
But,  rallying  each  dark  steed  once  more, 
Like  billows  borne  the  low  reefs  o'er 


TEUUMSEH.  285 

With  foamy  crest  in  air, 
Right  on  and  over  them  they  bore, 
With  gun  and  bayonet  thrust  before, 

And  swift  swords  brandished  bare. 
Then  madly  was  the  conflict  waged, 
Then  terribly  red  Slaughter  raged ! 

XXXVIII. 

How  still  is  yet  yon  dense  morass 

The  bloody  sun  below  ! 
Where'er  yon  chosen  horsemen  pass, 
There  stirs  no  bough,  nor  blade  of  grass, 

There  moves  no  secret  foe  ! 
Yet  on,  quick  eye  and  cautious  tread, 
His  bold  ranks  Johnson  darkling  led. 
— Sudden  from  tree  and  thicket  green, 
From  trunk,  and  mound,  and  bushy  screen, 
Sharp  lightning  flashed  with  instant  sheen, 

A  thousand  death-bolts  sung  ! 
Like  ripened  fruit  before  the  blast, 
Rider  and  horse  to  earth  were  cast, 

Its  miry  roots  among ; 
Then  wild,  as  if  that  earth  were  riven, 
And,  poured  beneath  the  cope  of  heaven, 
All  hell  to  upper  air  were  given, 

One  fearful  whoop  was  rung, 
And,  bounding  each  from  covert  forth, 
Burst  on  their  front  the  demon  birth. — 
"Off!  off!  each  horseman  to  the  ground  ! 

On  foot  we'll  quell  the  foe  !" 
And  instant,  with  impetuous  bound, 

They  hurled  them  down  below. 

xxxix. 

Then  loud  the  crash  of  arms  arose, 
As  when  two  forest  whirlwinds  close  ; 
24 


386  TECUMSEH. 

Then  filled  all  heaven  their  shout  and  yell, 
As  if  the  forests  on  them  fell ! 
I  see,  where  swells  the  thickest  fight, 
With  sword  and  hatchet  brandished  bright, 
And  rifles  flashing  sulphurous  light, 

Through  green  leaves  gleaming  red— 
I  see  a  plume,  now  near,  now  far, 
Now  high,  now  low,  like  falling  star, 
Wide  waving  o'er  the  tide  of  war, 

Where'er  the  onslaught's  led  ; 
I  see,  beneath,  a  bare  arm  swing, 

As  tempest  whirls  the  oak, 
Bosom  and  high  crest  shivering, 

The  war-club's  deadly  stroke  ; 
The  eager  infantry  rush  in, 
Before  their  ranks,  with  wilder  din, 

The  wav'ring  strife  is  driven — 
Above  the  struggling  storm  I  hear 
A  lofty  voice  the  war  bands  cheer, 
Still,  as  they  quail  with  doubt  or  fear, 

Yet  loud  and  louder  given  ; 
And,  rallying  to  the  clarion  cry, 
With  club  and  red  axe  raging  high, 

And  sharp  knives  sheathing  low, 
Fast  back  again  confusedly 

They  drive  the  staggering  foe. 

XL. 

But  now  they  saw  their  allies  fly, 

In  rout,  the  field  of  fear, 
And  now  victorious  cavalry 

Were  poured  upon  their  rear. 
Charge  followed  charge  : — how  shall  they  bide 
At  once  the  tempest  and  the  tide  ! 
Charge  followed  charge  !     To  either  side 

Their  struggling  flight  they  bore  ; 
Yet,  o'er  the  battle  waving  wide, 


TECUMSEH.  287 

One  plume  still  shone,  one  voice  yet  cried 

Above  the  battle's  roar: 
"  Fly  not,  though  yonder  allies  fly  ! 
Fly  not — 'tis  ours  to  fight  and  die  !" — 
O  !  shame  and  grief  were  in  the  cry, 
Revenge,  despair,  and  memory 

Of  things  to  be  no  more  ! — 
"Fight — for  your  injuries  suffered  long  !" 
And  his  own  arm  avenged  a  wrong  ; 
"Strike  !"  and  his  war-club,  swift  and  strong, 

Crashed  down  the  foe  before  ! 
Again  they  rallied  to  the  death, 
Again  they  quailed  the  storm  beneath, 

As  reeds  by  river's  shore. 

XLI. 

Kenhattawa  saw  the  day  was  lost, 
And  thoughts  of  dearer  vengeance  crossed 
His  savage  soul.     "  If  thus,"  he  yelled, 
"  The  red-men's  craven  hearts  are  quelled, 
And  all's  undone,  no  hands  but  mine 
Shall  spill  that  hated  life  of  thine  !" 
He  sprang,  and  hurled  his  hatchet  red, 

That,  past  the  chieftain's  feathered  crest, 

Quivered  in  Nidi's  aged  breast, 
And  stretched  him  with  the  dead. — 
"  Thou  traitor  !  perish  in  the  deed  !" 
And,  with  the  bound  of  battle-steed, 
Deep  through  the  Ottowa's  springs  of  life 
Tecumseh  drove  his  griding  knife 
Sheer  to  the  hilt,  then  waved  on  high 
The  reeking  blade,  with  louder  cry, 
"  Turn  !  turn  !  be  brave,  avenged,  and  die  !" — 
"  Charge  !  charge  !   cried  Johnson,  urging  on, 
Where  thickest  deeds  of  death  were  done, 
His  staggering  war-horse.     Stern  before, 
His  lifted  hatchet  drunk  with  gore, 


288  TECUMSEH. 

The  warrior  sprung — but,  ere  it  flew 
The  death-bolt  pierced  his  bosom  through. 
He  fell,  but,  falling,  tore  his  plume, 
And  waved  it  mid  death's  gathering  gloom, 

With  wild  and  lofty  cheer, 
"  Turn  !  strive  !  avenge  your  native  land  ! 
On  !  on—"  The  Ottowa's  failing  hand 

Felt  that  his  foe  was  near  ; 
And  through  the  hero,  back  and  forth, 
He  plunged  his  keen  blade  to  the  earth, 

Then  raised  one  long,  loud  whoop, 
Joined  only  with  the  eagle's  cry, 
Now  circling,  faster  through  the  sky, 

With  near  and  nearer  swoop  ; 
And  when  they  died  away  at  last, 
Tecumseh's  mighty  soul  had  passed. 

XL  u. 

"  Stay,  murderer  !"  Moray  cried,  and  flew, 
With  steps  of  fire,  the  forest  through. 
De  Vere  beheld  :  on  powerful  steed 
He  flung  the  girl. — Avenger,  speed  ! 
Thou  never  yet  hadst  greater  need, 
Though  thou  didst  run,  through  axe  and  knife, 
Such  strange  and  fearful  race  for  life  ! — 
Some  paces  more  if  thou  couldst  strain  ! 
— De  Vere  had  grasped  the  flowing  mane, 
And,  bounding,  dashed  his  rowels  deep — 
Like  plunging  cataract  from  the  steep, 
Like  tigress  reft  of  cherished  young, 
Headlong  the  desperate  lover  sprung, 
With  one  blow  cleft,  as  reed,  in  twain 
The  sinewy  arm  that  held  the  rein,  — - 
Though  still  its  fingers  kept  their  clasp, — 
Then  seized  the  maid  with  instant  grasp. 
"  By  Hell  the  fabled  !  on  the  bier 
Alone  thou'lt  wed  her  !"  foamed  De  Vere, 


TECUMSEH.  289 

And  with  his  left  hand  fiercely  pressed 
His  dagger  to  her  faded  breast ; 
But,  ere  'twas  driven,  a  sudden  blow 
Stunned  soul  and  sense.     With  groanings  low 
He  fell,  yet  by  the  stirrup  hung 
His  charger's  trampling  feet  among, 
Who,  snorting  then  with  rage  and  fear, 
Dashed  off  upon  his  wild  career. 

XLIII. 

Through  marsh  and  wood,  with  thickets  grown, 
O'erbrarnbly  banks,  o'er  log  and  stone, 
In  maddening  terror,  on— still  on — 
Plunged  the  strong  steed,  at  every  bound 
Hurling  the  torn  wretch  on  the  ground, 
Or  tossing  him  in  air.     The  skies 
Were  pierced  with  his  awakened  cries, 
As,  crashed  on  rock  or  massive  tree, 
Arose  his  voice  of  agony, 
Till,  as  they  dimly  disappeared, 
One  last,  long  fearful  shriek  was  heard, 
As  if  apart  his  limbs  were  riven. 
A  moment  more,  and  they  were  given 
Unto  each  straining  gaze  again, 
As,  bursting  forth  on  open  plain, 
The  savage  horse  whirled  faster  there 
The  head,  and  half  the  botly  bare, 
Torn  lengthwise,  now,  upheaved  in  air, 
Now  flung  to  earth  ;  and,  far  as  eys 
Could  view  between  the  plain  and  sky, 
That  furious  brute  still  onward  tore, 
And  still  that  ghastly  burden  bore — 
The  rended  corse,  yet  darkly  swinging, 
The  cleft  arm,  to  the  bridie  cl'nging ! 
25 


290  TECUMSEH. 

XLIV. 

From  that  strange  scene  of  guilt  and  pain 

Unto  each  other  turned  the  twain, 

With  thoughts  unuttered.     Joy  was  theirs 

Which  speaks  not,  save  in  voiceless  prayers; 

And  Mary,  suddenly  so  blest, 

Wept  deep  and  long  on  Moray's  breast 

— Returning  slow,  their  steps  were  led 

Along  the  field  of  changeless  dead. 

Upon  the  battle's  edge  was  cast, 

Where  rallied,  fought,  and  fell  the  last, 

O-wa-o-la,  in  slaughter  laid, 

Still  grasping  to  his  hatchet's  blade. 

His  heart  was  hushed — his  bosom  cold — 

Revenge  untaken — love  untold  ! 

And  Moray  gazed,  but  silently, 

For  he  had  felt  that  this  would  be : 

But  that  unseen,  unbidden  tear 

For  one  untutored,  yet  so  dear, 

Was  more  than  all  that  pornp  can  pay 

To  the  cold  sense  of  coffined  clay. 

— Beyond,  amid  the  fresh,  bright  blood, 

The  old  man  of  the  Wabash  stood 

By  his  two  sons,  on  whom  he  gazed, 

Nor  once  his  eyes  of  sorrow  raised. 

Few  were  his  tears  :  his  features  there 

Were  resignation  and  despair. 

"  Three,"  said  he,  "  rest  in  Wabash  grave, 

And  two  will  sleep  by  Thames's  wave, 

And  I  must  go  my  way  alone. 

We're  far  apart — but  Heaven  is  one  !" 

"Nay  !"  Moray  cried,  "I'll  be  thy  son  ! 

Where  dark  Miami's  waters  roam, 

This  dearest  maiden's  ruined  home 

We  will  renew  ;  and  thou  shalt  share, 

With  my  own  sire,  my  love  and  care  !" 


TECUMSEH. 
XLV. 

Near  by  was  Wyan  laid  to  rest, 

The  Ottowa's  hatchet  in  his  breast ; 

And  over  him  was  Moray's  heart 

Breathing  its  wordless  grief  apart, 

When  fixed  his  gaze  a  sadder  scene  : 

Upon  the  gory  ground,  between 

Tecumseh  and  his  mortal  foe, 

He  saw  Omeena  sitting  low. 

She  shed  no  tears  :  upon  her  brow, 

And  in  her  eyes,  there  rested  now 

The  depths  of  calmness  ;  yet  was  seen 

Unuttered  woe  in  all  her  mien. 

Her  sire's  clenched  hand,  still  starkly  pressed 

With  red  knife,  to  the  hero's  breast, 

She  drew  away,  and,  from  the  ground, 

The  torn  plume  laid  on  that  last  wound  ; 

Then,  gazing  on  each  changeless  face, 

She  did  these  sorrowing  accents  raise . 

XLVI. 
THE   LAMENT. 

"  Thus  art  thou  fallen,  ray  father  ! 

Thou  wilt  not  dwell  by  Huron's  shore  ! 
Thou  shalt  unto  the  strife  of  men 

Go  forth  no  more  ! 

Alas  !  no  more  shalt  thou,  returning  home, 
Make  glad  thy  daughter's  heart  to  see  thee  come  ! 

"  Our  home  will  be  the  stranger's  ! 

Pale  feet  shall  pass  by  its  blue  wave, 
Pale  feet  shall  tread,  in  heedless  mood, 

My  mother's  grave  ! — 
I  cannot  tell — but  wherefore  should  we  stay, 
When  the  Great  Spirit  gives  our  land  away  ! 


291 


292 


TECUMSEH. 


"  But  thee,  most  glorious  chieftain  ! 

How  shall  my  sorrow  speak  to  thee, 
Great  man  !  avenger  of  thy  race  ! 

Their  destiny  ! 

Thou  wast  the  bright  and  solitary  star  : 
Omeena  loved  to  look  on  thee  afar  ! 

"  And  now,  O  matchless  warrior  ! 

Ah  !   where  is  now  thine  arm  of  might  1 
Thy  voice,  the  terrible  in  war  1 

Thine  eye  of  light  1— 

And  yet  I  knew  thou  couldst  not  choose  but  die  ! 
I  knew  thou  wouldst  not  from  the  battle  fly  ! 

"  It  was  not  well,  my  father ! 

To  add  thy  stroke  to  hostile  blows  : 
'Tis  sad  when  two,  who  love  their  land, 

Are  mortal  foes ! 

Lo  !  now  our  sun  is  set,  our  day  is  o'er  : 
Ah  !  be  ye  friends  upon  the  Spirit  Shore  ! 

"  How  cold  Tecumseh  sleepeth  1 

He  cannot  hear  my  mourning  call  : 
Yet,  say,  O  heart !  hath  he  not  fallen, 

As  brave  men  fall  1 — 

Daughter  of  Pontiac  !  wherefore  lingerest  long  ? 
Thus,  thus  I  end  my  sorrow  and  my  song  !" 

She  ceased,  and,  ceasing,  struck  the  blade* 
Wherewith  her  sire's  revenge  was  paid, 
To  her  own  heart ;  then,  drooping,  pressed 
The  bare  earth  by  each  chieftain's  breast, 
Thrust  back  the  hands  would  stanch  the  tide, 
And,  fondly  each  embracing, — died. 


By  Thames's  darkly  wandering  wave 
There  is  a  rude  and  humble  grave. 


TECUMSEH.  293 

In  place  of  mausoleum  high, 

The  hoar  trees  arch  their  canopy  ; 

Instead  of  storied  marble  shining, 

Are  loose  gray  stones,  in  moss  reclining, 

And,  ages  laid  along  its  side, 

One  chieftain  oak,  in  fallen  pride. 

No  evil  thing,  'tis  said,  hath  birth, 

Or  grows,  within  that  lowly  earth, 

Or,  if  they  may,  with  reverent  love 

Do  Indian  hands  the  harm  remove ; 

But  there  the  wild-vine  greenly  wreathes, 

And  there  the  wild-rose  sweetly  breathes, 

And  willows,  in  eternal  gloom, 

Are  mourning  round  that  lonely  tomb. 

And  oft,  at  morn,  or  evening  gray, 

As  fondly  Indian  legends  say, 

Nor  such  be  theme  for  scorn, 
Slow  circling  round  on  dusky  wing, 
Or  on  that  huge  oak  hovering, 

With  plumage  stained  and  torn, 
A  solitary  eagle  there  appears, 
Watching  that  silent  tomb,  as  pass  the  cloudy  years. 


25* 


NOTES. 


CANTO  I. 

free-born  Hesperia. — INTRODUCTION. 

IT  is  an  unhappy  circumstance  with  regard  to  this  country,  that  it  has  no 
decent  name,  poetical  or  practical.  To  be  called  Americans  is  no  designa 
tion,  as  we  have  no  right  to  the  title,  more  than  inhabitants  of  the  southern 
continent.  The  appellation  of  North  American  is  nearly  as  indefinite,  be 
longing  as  much  to  a  Texian,  Canadian,  or  Greenlander,  as  to  us.  There  are 
United  States  in  South  America,  as  well  as  here :  and  the  term  Yankee,  were 
it  any  thing  more  than  a  nick-name  of  somewhat  doubtful  character,  can 
apply  only  to  New-England.  Among  foreigners,  therefore,  we  have  no  ap 
propriate  designation,  except  as  Citizens  of  the  United  States  of  North 
America ;  and  half  of  a  man's  ideas  would  run  away  before  this  could  be 
well  uttered. 

As  to  poetical  titles,  we  have  never  had  any,  except  Columbia,  which  is 
equally  indefinite,  as  well  as  inappropriate,  and  seems  of  late  to  be  generally 
discarded.  I  have,  therefore,  felt  the  necessity  of  finding  some  new  name. 
What  I  have  chosen  cannot,  indeed,  be  appropriated  exclusive  for  this  coun 
try,  unless,  it  may  be,  by  right  of  "  prime  usage"  ;  but  its  classical  beauty 
allured  me  to  the  choice.  With  the  ancients  the  evening  star  was  Hesperus ; 
and  the  epithet,  Hesperian,  has  been  applied  to  regions  west,  and  still  farther 
west,  as  the  "  star  of  empire  has  taken  its  way."  The  Grecians  gave  it  to 
Italy,  the  Italians  to  Spain,  and  various  writers  to  the  new  world  of  Columbus. 

Where  yet  our  Father's  smiles  do  play. — STANZA  v. 

No  tribe  of  North  American  Indians,  except  the  Natchesof  the  Mississippi, 
long  since  extinct,  have  ever  considered  themselves,  like  the  Peruvians,  real 
descendants  of  the  Sun.  The  epithet,  however,  was  constantly  employed  by 
them  poetically,  or  in  their  oratory. 

Where  brave  souls,  Indian  legends  tell, 

Beyond  his  golden  palace  dwell. 

All  Indian  ideas  of  the  Land  of  Spirits  united  in  placing  it  towards  the 
sunset,  surrounded  by  clear  waters,  and  enjoying  the  most  delightful  climate. 
Their  notions  of  such  a  climate,  however,  varied  with  the  nature  of  the  coun 
try  which  each  tribe  inhabited.  To  the  Chippewyans,  living  between  the 
parallels  of  lat.  60  and  65  north,  where  the  ground  rarely  thaws,  and  pro 
duces  nothing  but  moss,  "  perpetual  verdure  and  fertility,  and  waters  unin- 
cumbered  with  ice,  are  voluptuous  images.  Hence  they  imagine  that,  after 


296  NOTES. 

death,  they  shall  inhabit  a  most  beautiful  island  iu  the  centre  of  an  extensive 
lake.  Oil  the  surface  of  this  lake  they  will  embark  iu  a  stone  canoe,  and,  if 
their  actions  have  been  generally  good,  will  be  borne  by  a  gentle  current  to 
their  delightful  and  eternal  abode." — Mackenzie. 

The  natives  of  the  South,  naturally  placing  their  enjoyments  in  things 
opposite  to  the  violence  of  a  tropical  climate,  supposed  it  to  be  a  country 
"of  delicious  fruits,  cool  shades,  and  murmuring  rivulets;  where  drought 
never  rages,  and  the  hurricane  is  never  felt." 

wizard  stream. — STANZA  xxv. 

This  epithet,  from  Milton's 

Where  wandering  Deva  spreads  her  wizard  stream, 

was  applied  to  the  Hudson  on  account  of  the  strange  enchantment,  which  a 
few  sketches  from  a  gifted  pen  have  flung  over  its  wild,  romantic  region. 

Till  at  the  last  they  reared  their  brows. — STANZA  xxx. 
The  banks  of  the  Ohio  below  sshawneetown  are  the  loftiest  on  the  river, 
rising  several  hundred  feet  on  each  side. 

And  our  Father's  sister  gazeth. — STANZA  xxxn. 

As  the  Indian  figuratively  calls  the  sun  his  father,  so  the  moon  is  termed 
the  sister  of  the  sun. 

Still  brooding  o'er  his  own  sweet  words. — STANZA  xxxin. 
"And  o'er  her  own  sweet  voice  the  stock-dove  broods." — Wordsworth. 

CANTO  II. 

A  huge,  rude  pile,  built  up  of  old 
By  hands  lung  since  forgot  and  cold. — STANZA  r. 

With  regard  to  the  origin  of  the  western  mounds  little  can  be  satisfactorily 
determined,  except  that  they  were  evidently  built  by  a  race  no  longer  exist 
ing.  The  Lenape  have  a  tradition,  that  their  fathers  crossed  the  Mississippi 
from  the  West,  and  found  on  this  side  a  nation  called  Alligewi,  from  whom 
the  Allcgliany  river  and  mountains  received  their  name.  "  Many  wonderful 
things,"  says  Heckewelder,  '•  are  related  of  this  famous  people.  They  are 
said  to  have  been  remarkably  stout  and  tall;  and  there  is  a  tradition  that 
there  were  giants  among  them — people  of  a  much  larger  size  than  the  tallest 
of  the  Lenape."  After  describing  two  old  entrenchments  supposed  to  have 
been  built  by  them,  he  says  :  "  Outside  of  the  gateway  of  each  of  these  two 
entrenchments,  which  lay  within  a  mile  of  each  other,  were  a  number  of 
large  flat  mounds,  in  which,  the  Indian  pilot  said,  were  buried  hundreds  of 
the  slain  Alligewi."  They  are  found  from  central  New-York  and  Lake  Erie, 
to  the  borders  of  Mexico,  through  all  the  immense  Valley  of  the  Missi>*ippi, 
between  the  Alleghanies  and  the  Rocky  Mountains.  They  are  of  all  shapes, 
round,  square  or  uhlong,  flat,  pyramidal  or  truncated  ;  and  of  all  sizes,  from 
five  to  a  hundred  feet  in  height,  and  from  a  hundred  to  three  thousand  feet 
iu  circumference. 


NOTES.  297 

Equally  unknown  to  us  is  the  purpose  for  which  they  were  erected.  That 
they  were  used  for  tombs,  is  certain,  for  hundreds  have  been  excavated,  and 
but  few  found  without  skeletons,  either  single  or  in  numbers  ;  sometimes  in 
the  bare  earth,  often  in  rude  stone  chests  or  coffins.  But  that  this  was  not 
altogether  their  design,  is  equally  evident,  as  they  frequently  present  the  ap 
pearance  of  fortifications,  witlHrenches,  angles  and  circumvallations.— A  full 
account  of  them  will  be  found  in  Bradford's  Antiquities,  by  far  the  best  work 
which  has  yet  appeared  on  the  subject. 

A  prairie's  boundless  prospect  lay. 

Like  solemn  Ocean. 

The  western  prairies  present,  as  is  well  known,  especially  in  summer  and 
autumn,  an  appearance  similar  to  the  ocean.  On  the  lower  portions  the  grass 
grows  often  as  high  as  a  man's  head. 

STANZAS  ir  and  in. 

The  various  accounts  of  the  two  brothers  agree,  in  most  respects,  with  re 
gard  to  their  personal  appearance.  Tecumseh  is  represented  to  have  been 
about  "  six  feet  high,  noble  in  appearance,  symmetrical  in  form,  in  carriage 
lofty  and  erect."  "  Els-kwa-ta-wa,  also,  was  tall  and  graceful  in  action,  but 
too  slender  to  be  finely  proportioned,  with  keen  eyes  and  a  thin  gloomy  vis 
age."  As  widely  different  were  their  dispositions  and  characters.  "Te 
cumseh,"  says  Thatcher  in  his  excellent  biography,  "was  frank,  warlike, 
persuasive  in  his  oratory,  popular  in  his  manners,  irreproachable  in  his 
habits  of  life.  Els-kwa-ta-wa  had  more  cunning  than  courage  ;  and  a 
stronger  disposition  to  talk  than  to  fight,  or  exert  himself  in  any  other  way. 
But  he  was  subtle,  fluent,  persevering,  and  self-possessed."  They  were,  how 
ever,  well  formed  to  scheme  and  execute  their  plans  together.  The  one  be 
came  a  prophet,  crafty  and  cruel,  haranguing  wherever  he  could  get  a 
hearer;  the  other  carried  out  his  designs,  thus  supported,  into  boldness  and 
energy  of  action. 

Their  first  interview,  for  the  purpose  of  leaguing  the  western  Indians 
against  the  encroachments  of  the  whites,  is  said  to  have  taken  place  in  1804, 
by  some,  in  the  summer  of  1806.  After  this  period  their  meetings  became 
frequent,  their  efforts  untiring;  and  the  result  was  the  acquisition  to  Te 
cumseh  of  greater  power  than  perhaps  any  Indian  of  the  continent  has  ever 
possessed. 

Tecumseh  was  pronounced  Tecumthk,  and  is  said  by  some  to  have  signi 
fied  a  crouching  panther;  by  others  a  falling  star.  The  name,  Els-kwa~ 
ta-wa,  should  be  accented,  I  believe,  on  the  second  syllable,  rather  than  the 
third  ;  but  I  could  not  determine  it,  till  the  poem  was  completed.  It  is  not, 
however,  of  material  importance. 

say  hath  he  been, 

Where  once  the  Shawnecs  home  was  seen. — STANZA  v. 

The  Shawnees,  or  Shawanese,  came  originally  from  the  South,  (as  their 
name,  from  the  Delaware  word  Shawaneu,  South,  indicates,)  dwelling  around 
Savannah,  in  Georgia,  and  in  the  Floridas.  They  were,  as  Loskiel  repre- 


298 


NOTES. 


seats  them,  "  a  restless  people,  delighting  in  wars,  and  the  most  savage  of 
the  Indian  nations."  For  this  reason  their  neighbors,  the  Cherokees,  Choc- 
taws,  Creeks  and  Yemassees,  formed  a  league  to  expel  them  from  the  coun 
try.  But  the  Shawnees  wisely  retired  before  them,  and  settled  north  upon 
the  Ohio  ;  some  of  them  as  far  up  as  the  site  of  the  French  fort  Duquesne, — 
now  Pittsburg, — and  others  on  the  forks  of  the  Delaware  and  along  the 
»,  Scioto.  Tecumseh  himself  was  born,  and  passed  his  childhood,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Scioto,  near  Chilicothe,  though  his  mother  was  a  Cherokee  captive 
adopted  into  the  nation.  In  1760,  the  continental  troops  expelled  that  por 
tion  of  the  tribe  from  their  pleasant  home,  and  burned  their  villages  behind 
them  ;  with  what  reason  or  justice,  I  have  not  been  able  to  discover.  "Pro 
bably  at  this  very  time,"  says  Thatcher,  "  the  young  hero,  who  afterwards 
kindled  the  flame  of  war  upon  the  entire  frontier  of  the  states,  by  the  breath 
of  his  own  single  spirit,  was  learning  his  first  lessons  of  vengeance  amid  the 
ruins  of  his  native  land,  and  in  the  blood  of  his  countrymen." 

The  red-man  quaffs  the  drink  of  fire, 

Till  made  a  coward,  slave  a?id  liar. 

Worse  than  the  pale-face. — STANZA  vi. 

The  devoted  and  fatal  attachment  of  the  Indian  tribes  for  ardent  spirits, 
is  a  thing  of  melancholy  notoriety.  It  is  this,  more  than  any  thing  else, 
which  has  corrupted  and  ruined  them,  destroying  their  savage  virtues,  and 
bestowing,  instead,  the  worst  vices  of  the  whites.  From  the  earliest  settle 
ments  on  their  coasts,  this  has  been  the  case ;  and  it  is  matter  of  history, 
that  many  hard  bargains  for  their  wild-skins,  and  their  hunting  grounds, 
have  been  made  through  its  influence  by  French,  English  and  Americans. 

Father  of  Waters. — STANZA  vi. 

This  is  the  meaning  of  the  word  Mississippi,  in  the  Indian  tongue,  given 
to  that  majestic  river  on  account  of  its  superior  current,  and  the  number  of 
great  streams  received  into  it  Irom  each  side.  They  have  always  regarded 
the  Mississippi  with  a  kind  of  veneration. 

Far  and  near 

The  prophet's  words  are  words  of  fear. — STANZA  VH. 

The  power  which  F.ls-kwa-ta-wa  obtained  in  the  course  of  four  years  was 
immense.  His  injunctions  at  first  were  certainly  very  excellent,  and  not  un 
worthy  of  being  commended  to  some  civilized  people.  There  was  to  be  no 
more  fighting  between  the  tribes — they  were  brethren.  They  were  to  aban 
don  the  use  of  ardent  spirits,  and  to  wear  skins  as  their  ancestors  had  done, 
instead  of  blankets.  Stealing,  quarreling,  and  other  immoral  habits,  were 
also  denounced.  Adding  to  these  plausible  counsels  many  superstitious  di 
rections  and  ceremonies,  he  gained  sucli  influence,  that  his  nod  was  law,  and 
any  command,  however  terrible,  was  obeyed. 

Let  no  sacrifice 

Of  red-men  to  thy  wrath  be  burned. — STANZA  vm. 
Els-kwa-ta-wa  possessed,  perhaps,  as  much  love  for  his  country  and  pure 


NOTES.  299 

resentment  for  the  wrongs  of  his  race,  as  did  Tecumseh  ;  but  he  was  natu 
rally  more  cruel,  the  part  he  was  to  act,  in  furtherance  of  their  schemes, called 
for  continual  art  and  deception,  and  his  whole  policy,  in  accordance,  was 
crafty  and  unscrupulous. 

"  Disaffection  and  indifference  were  not  the  only  obstacles  the  Prophet  and 
his  brother  were  obliged  to  surmount.  The  chiefs  of  most  of  the  tribes  were 
their  resolute  opponents.  They  were  jealous  or  suspicious  of  the  new  pre 
tenders,  ridiculed  and  reproached  them,  and  thwarted  their  exertions  in 
every  possible  way.  What  was  to  be  <^one  with  these  persons?  Elskwa- 
tawa  availed  himself  of  a  new  department  of  that  unfailing  snperstition 
which  had  hitherto  befriended  him  ;  and  a  charge  of  witchcraft  was  brought 
up.  His  satellites  and  scouts  being  engaged  in  all  directions  in  ascertaining 
who  were,  or  were  likely  to  be,  his  friends  or  his  enemies,  it  was  readily  de 
termined,  at  head-quarters,  who  should  be  accu.-ed.  Judge,  jury  and  testi 
mony  were  also  provided  with  the  same  ease.  He  had  already  taken  such 
means  of  gaining  the  implicit  confidence  of  his  votaries,  that  his  own  sugges 
tions  were  considered  the  best  possible  evidence,  and  the  most  infallible  de 
cision  ;  and  the  optics  of  his  followers  becoming  every  day  more  keen,  upon 
his  authority,  there  was  no  want  of  the  most  suitable  convicts."  "  The  In 
dians  universally  have  an  extreme  horror  of  a  wizard  or  a  witch,  which  no 
reputation,  rank,  age,  or  services,  are  sufficient  to  counteract ;  and  of  course, 
resistance  or  remonstrance  on  the  part  even  of  an  accused  chieftain,  only 
went  to  exasperate  and  hasten  the  sure  destruction  which  awaited  him." — 
Thatcher. 

Tecurnseh,  frank  and  generons  in  disposition,  and  above  board  in  all  his 
actions,  was  opposed  to  such  measures,  and  finally  exacted  a  promise  to  de 
sist.  He  would,  probably,  never  have  allowed  it  at  all,  but  for  the  difficulty 
of  acting  without  the  Prophet. 

Swarth,  fiery  Ottowas  had  come 
From  Huron's  dark-blue  water. — STANZA  x. 

This  tribe,  when  the  commerce  of  the  early  French  colonists  of  Canada 
first  began  to  extend  itself  to  the  Upper  Lakes,  was  found  in  their  vicinity, 
and  especially  near  Macinaw.  It  is  supposed  they  were  originally  a  tcion  of 
the  Algonquin  stock,  settled  in  Champlain's  time  along  the  north  banks  of 
the  St.  Lawrence,  between  Quebec  and  Lake  St.  Peters.  They  were  a  brave 
and  haughty  race,  always  friendly  to  the  French,  hostile  to  the  English  and 
afterwards  to  the  Americans. 

Which  made  that  name  the  white-man's  dread. 

The  chief,  under  whom  the  Ottowas  rose  to  their  highest  power,  was 
Pontiac,  a  name  worthy  of  being  classed  with  Philip  and  Tecumseh,  as  one 
of  the  three  great  agitators  of  their  centuries.  The  history  of  that  period  ia 
filled  with  accounts  of  his  shrewdness,  generosity,  courage  and  unyielding 
hostility.  There  was  something  altogether  regal  about  him.  He  considered 
himself  the  firm  friend  of  the  French  King,  but  as  owing  no  allegiance;  hia 
own  tribe  was  powerful;  his  influence  over  the  neighboring  tribes,  from 
Superior  to  the  Potomac,  almost  unbounded  ;  and,  to  complete  the  character 


300 


NOTES. 


of  a  monarch,  his  personal  bearing  was  proud  and  independent.  He  saw  the 
aggressions  of  the  whites,  and  the  probable  ruin  of  his  race,  if  they  remained 
inactive.  He  resolved  to  be  in  time  and  extirpate  them,  not  only  from  his 
own  possessions — the  woods  and  waters  of  the  Great  Lakes — but  from  the 
country.  His  efforts  and  combinations  to  this  end  are  equalled  only  by  those 
of  Tecumseh  at  a  later  day,  and  evince  extraordinary  genius,  as  well  aa 
courage  and  energy.  Very  speedily  he  had  effected  a  league  of  the  Ottowas, 
Chippewas,  Pottawatamies,  Miamies,  Sacs,  Foxes,  Menominees,  Wyandots, 
Missisagues,  Shawnees,  Delawarns  of  Ohio  and  Pennsylvania,  and  the  Six 
Nations  of  New-York  ;  and  a  vast  system  of  contemporaneous  attack  was 
planned,  comprehending  ail  the  British  positions  from  Niagara  to  Green  Bay 
and  the  Potomac.  The  plan  was  matured,  and  nine  forts  were  captured  in 
one  day.  His  death  took  place  in  1767,  being  assassinated  at  a  council 
araoiig  the  Illinois  by  a  Peoria  Indian. 

And  I  to  Arcouski  made.— STANZA  xiv. 

Areouski  or  Areskoui,  us  some  write  it,  is  the  Indian  battle-god,  though 
supposed  also  to  possess  many  attributes  of  the  Supreme  Being.  "  11  paroit, 
madame,  que  dans  ces  chansons  on  iuvoque  le  dieu  de  la  guerre,  quo  les 
Hurons  appclient  Areskoui  et  It.-s  Iroquois  Agreskoue.  Je  ne  scai  pas  quel 
nom  au  lui  donne  dans  IPS  lungues  Algonquines."  "  L?  Areskoui  des  Hurons 
ct  I Agreskoue  des  Iroquois  est  dans  1'opinion  de  ces  peuples  le  Souverain 
Etre,  et  le  Dieu  de  la  Guerre."—  Charlevoix,  iii.  207-344. 

The  Great  Mamtto  by  them  stood. — STANZA  xix. 

"  Tiie  name  Manittoe  is  common  among  all  the  tribes  from  Arkansas  to 
the  sources  of  the  Missi.**ippi,  and,  according  to  Mackenzie,  through  the  arc 
tic  regions." — Schooler afi's  Travels,  p.  88. 

How  the  word  should  be  pronounced  I  cannot  determine.  Some  accent 
the  first  syllable.  Thus  Campbell  in  "  Gertrude  of  Wyoming  :" 

"  As  when  the  evil  Manitou  that  dries 
The  Ohio  woods,"  &c. 

Others  write  it  Mnnitto  and  accent  the  second  syllable.  I  have  taken  the  last 
for  metrical  reasons. 

"  Lo  !  let  us  speak  of  things  that  were,  ffc. — STANZA  xix. 
The  recitals,  which  the  Indians  give  of  the  coming  of  the  white  people 
among  them,  are  long  and  painful.  They  are  continually  dwelling  with  a 
melancholy  pleasure  on  the  long  and  peaceful  lives,  which  their  forefathers 
enjoyed,  when  they  were  unmolested  and  contented  in  their  native  wilds, 
and  their  wants  were  all  supplied,  because  they  were  few.  Then  come 
mournful  accounts  of  the  appearance  of  the  pale-face  among  them,  of  the 
seizure  of  their  lands,  and  their  gradual  decay  and  departure  from  their 
former  homes,  till  they  can  only  consider  themselves  as  exiles  and  wanderers. 
Some  of  these  accounts  are  quite  amusing,  others  very  affecting.  The  fol 
lowing,  relating  to  the  landing  of  the  Dutch,  will  be  judged  to  be  both,  though 
the  amusing  rather  predominates. 


NOTES.  301 

"A  great  many  winters  ago,"  siy  the  Delawares,  "when  men  with  a  white 
skin  had  never  yet  been  seen  in  this  land,  some  Indians,  who  were  out  a 
fishing  at  a  place  where  the  sea  widens,  espied  at  a  great  distance  something 
remarkably  large  flouting  on  the  water,  and  such  as  they  had  never  seen 
before.  Some  thought  it  an  uncommonly  great  fish  ;  others  were  of  opinion 
it  must  be  a  very  big  house  floating  on  Ute  water."  The  tradition  goes  on 
to  state,  th:it  runners  were  senl  off  with  great  haste  in  every  direction  ;  their 
chiefs  and  warriors  were  as>embled,  to  view  the  strange  appearance;  and 
it  was  presently  concluded,  that  the  Great  Mauitio  himself  was  come  in  a 
huge  wigwam,  to  make  them  a  visit.  Then  the  conjurors  were  set  to  work; 
extensive  measures  were  taken  to  provide  meat  for  an  offering;  the  women 
were  hurried  about  in  the  way  of  cooking  ;  the  images  were  examined  and 
put  in  the  b<;st  order;  and  a  grand  dance,  with  a  great  sacrifice,  it  was  sup 
posed,  would  be  accepted,  as  an  agreeable  entertainment. 

Very  soon  the  strange  house  came  warping  along  up  ;  then  a  littlo 
canoe  was  dropped  down,  and  paddled  towards  them  by  several  beings, 
qucerly  dressed — especially  a  thick,  chunky  man,  entirely  in  flaming  red, 
who,  of  course,  must  be  tho  Manitto;  though  why  he  should  hate  a  white 
skin,  it  was  not  so  easy  to  determine.  Some  were  for  running  oft'  to  the 
woods ;' but  it  was  concluded  on  the  whole  safer  to  stay. 

Then  the  chiefs,  wise  men,  and  particularly  brave  warriors,  spread  them 
selves  out  into  a  great  circle,  towards  which  the  being  in  red  clothes  ap 
proached  with  an  attendant.  The  attendant  taking  a  large  hackhack  or 
junk  bottle,  poured  out  some  strange  water  into  a  little  cup  and  gave  it  to 
the  Mannto.  The  red  personage  drinks,  fills  the  cup  again,  smacks  his  lips, 
and  hands  it  to  the  chief  next  to  him.  The  chief  sagely  smells  the  contents 
and  passes  it  unto  the  next,  who  considers  it  as  safe  as  any  way,  to  do  tho 
same.  So  the  cup  passes  around  the  circle,  and  is  about  to  be  returned  un- 
tasted,  when  a  brave  man  and  a  gre;it  warrior,  jumps  up  and  harangues  the 
assembly  on  the  impropriety  of  returning  the  cup  in  this  manner.  To  please 
the  Manitto,  they  ought  to  follow  his  example  ;  otherwise,  they  might  make 
him  mad ;  and,  as  no  one  else  would  drink  the  contents,  he  would  do  it  him 
self,  be  the  consequence  what  it  might:  it  was  better  for  one  man  to  die 
than  that  a  whole  nation  should  bo  destroyed.  Accordingly,  he  took  the 
cup,  ami,  bidding  the  assembly  a  solemn  farewell,  emptied  it  at  once — an  act 
certainly  in  no  way  inferior  to  that  of  Curtius  leaping  into  the  chasm  to  save 
Rome.  Every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  resolute  chief  to  see  the  effect.  Pre 
sently  he  staggered  and  fell.  But  while  his  companions  silently  lament  his 
fate,  he  wakes  again,  jumps  up  and  declares  that  he  never  felt  so  happy 
and — asks  for  more.  This  seemed  remarkable  and  worth  trying: — the  whole 
assembly  imitated  him,  and  were  very  speedily  in  a  most  ecstatic  state,  the 
world  around  them  appearing  more  extraordinary  than  it  ever  did  before. 

While  the  Delawares  on  bhore  embraced  each  other,  climbed  trees  and 
got  down  again,  raced  into  the  water  and  out,  stood  on  their  heads  in  the 
sand,  and  executed  a  number  of  feats,  such  as  no  Indian  had  ever  achieved, 
the  Dutchmen  cautiously  confined  themselves  to  their  floating  house.  But 
when  it  was  all  over,  and  the  earth  seemed  as  old-fashioned  as  ever,  they 

26 


302  NOTES. 

returned,  distributed  presents  of  axes,  hoes  and  stockings,  gave  the  Indian* 
to  understand  that  they  would  return  next  year,  and  then  set  sail. 

The  next  year  they  came  again,  and,  after  laughing  at  the  Delawares,  by 
way  of  reproof,  lor  hanging  the  hoes  and  axes  about  their  necks  as  orna 
ments,  and  making  tobacco-pouches  of  the  stockings,  just  to  show  them 
how  to  do  things,  cut  down  trees  with  the  axes,  hoed  up  the  ground,  and 
put  the  stockings  on  their  legs — whereupon  the  Indians  marvelled  at  their 
lack  of  discernment.  Then  the  whites  asked  for  a  spot  of  ground,  to  raise 
a  few  herbs  for  their  soup,  so  large  only  as  a  bullock's  hide  would  en 
compass.  This  being  a  small  aii'air,  was  readily  granted ;  but  the  whites 
took  a  knife,  cut  the  whole  hide  into  one  long  string,  and  enclosed  with 
it  a  vrry  large  piece; — by  which,  moreover,  it  appears  they  turned  their 
classical  knowledge, respecting  Queen  Dido,  to  good  account.  "And  here," 
say  the  Delawares,  "  we  might  first  have  observed  their  deceitful  spirit. 
They  wanted  only  a  little,  little  land  to  raise  greens  on,  instead  of  which 
they  planted  great  guns  ;  afterwards  they  built  strong  houses,  made  them 
selves  master*  of  the  island,  and  at  last  drove  us  entirely  out  of  the  coun 
try.'7  "  We  and  our  kindred  tribes  lived  in  peace  and  harmony  before  the 
coming  of  the  whites;  our  council-house  extended  far  to  the  north  and  far 
to  the  south.  In  the  middle  of  it  we  could  meet  from  all  parts,  and  smoke 
the  pipe  of  peace  together.  It  was  we,  it  was  our  forefathers,  who  made 
the  strangers  welcome,  and  let  them  sit  down  by  our  side.  We  knew  not 
but  the  Great  Spirit  had  sent  them  for  some  good  purpose.  We  were  mis 
taken  ;  for  no  sooner  had  they  obtained  a  fooling  on  our  lands,  than  they 
pulled  dowu  our  council-house  and  extinguished  the  bright  fire  in  the  centre 
with  our  own  blood — with  the  blood  of  those  who  had  welcomed  them!1' 
"We  are  driven  back,"  said  an  old  warrior  of  a  western  tribe,  "till  we  can 
retreat  no  farther — our  hatchets  are  broken — our  bows  are  snapped  —our 
fires  are  nearly  extinguished:  a  little  longer,  and  the  white-man  will  cease 
to  persecute — for  we  shall  cease  to  exist !"  Of  the  same  import  is  a  long 
passage  in  the  masterly  speech  of  lied  Jacket,  as  given  in  the  fine  biography 
of  him  by  Col.  Stone. 

Their  feelings,  indeed,  when  occupied  with  these  melancholy  reminis 
cences,  are  often  seen,  of  late,  to  break  through  their  natural  or  acquired 
stoicism.  A  friend  of  mine,  who  had  resided  some  years  at  the  southwest, 
told  me,  that  a  young  warrior,  whose  tribe  was  to  be  removed  beyond  the 
Mississippi,  after  conversing  with  him  a  long  time,  one  day,  with  lamenta 
tions  anil  tears,  about  their  ancient  glory  and  power,  their  multiplied  wrongs 
and  dark  prospects,  turned  then  more  calmly  away,  chanted  a  wild,  low 
song,  and  rushing  from  the  house,  cut  a  slender  rod,  and  discharged  the  con 
tents  of  his  loaded  rifle  into  his  own  heart. 

The.  captive  saw  his  only  chance 

Of  saving  life,  6fc,  —  STANZA  xxvi. 

The  captive  is  made  to  run  several  miles  and  escape  from  a  multitude  of 
swift-footed  Indians.  This  may  appear  to  some  incredible  ;  but  the  truth  is, 
that  the  best  runners  among  the  whites  are  sw  ifier  than  any  Indians,  as  they 
are  also  acknowledged  to  be  more  expert  with  the  rille.  There  are,  besides, 
accounts  of  several  such  races,  given  on  good  authority.  The  most  extraor 
dinary  is  that,  related  of  one  Coulter,  iu  Mr.  Irvine's  "Astoria," 


NOTES.  303 

The  prairie  was  on  fire  — STANZA  xxx. 

The  great  Western  Prairies  have  been  burnt  more  or  less  every  season  for 
years.  Sometimes  they  are  fired  accidentally,  but  generally  by  the  Indians, 
for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  quick  and  fresh  feed  in  the  spring.  They  form, 
especially  in  the  night,  a  very  sublime  spectacle— equalled  only  by  tho  burn 
ing  of  an  American  forest.  It  in  said,  that  iu  a  still  time  the  roar  of  the 
flames  can  be  he^rd  two  or  three  leagues. 

It  was  a  pit,  deep,  damp,  and  round. — STANZA  xxxn. 
These  are  frequently  found  in  the  prairies,  sometimes  several  feet  deep. 
In  the  spring  they  are  filled  with  water;  in  summer,  more  or  less  dry.     To 
what  cause  they  are  to  be  ascribed,  I  am  not  aware. 

By  some  green  course. 

There  are  often  long,  shallow  valleys,  where  more  water  is  found,  and 
the  herbage  consequently  more  verdant. 

Fast  bound  her  to  the  Tree  of  Death.— STANZA  xxxiv. 
At  all  Indian  villages  or  fixed  encampments,  they  were  accustomed  to  have 
some  particular  post,  to  whiclt  their  victims  were  tied  for  torture.    This  was 
sometimes  a  stake,  sometimes  a  small  tree,  peeled  and  withered. 

CANTO  III. 

On  the  side 

Of  wild  Kt.nhawa,  ffc.— STANZA  in. 

The  battle  of  the  Great  Kenhawa  took  place,  as  is  well  known,  through  the 
instigations  of  the  celebrated  Logan,  in  vengeance  for  the  infamous  murder 
of  all  his  family  by  some  vagabond  whites.  In  this  case,  as  in  a  hundred 
others,  the  murderers  were  not  punished;  for  many  considered  the  killing  of 
an  Indian,  like  the  slaughter  of  a  wild-beast,  something  meritorious  than 
otherwise.  By  all  accounts,  Tecumseh's  father  was  slain  in  this  engage 
ment. 

As  through  some  abbey  of  olden  time. — STANZA  vi. 

Our  noble  western  forests,  where  the  trees  are  large  and  far  apart,  fre 
quently  present,  especially  when  their  leaves  are  faded  in  autumn,  very 
much  the  appearance  of  Gothic  cathedrals  with  their  stained  windows.  In 
Irving's  '-Tour  on  the  Prairie"  is  an  observation  to  this  effect.  It  is  said, 
indeed,  that  the  Gothic  order  of  architecture  was  derived  from  the  temples 
of  the  Druids,  which  were  nothing  more  than  "  God's  first  temples"— the 
groves. 

If  any  eye  had  in  that  hour,  tfC.— STANZA  vn. 

The  general  impression,  that  the  American  Indian  never  sheds  tears,  and, 
IB  fact,  has  but  a  small  share  of  sensibility,  is  altogether  false.  He  trains 
himself  to  a  perfect  command  of  countenance,  and  repression  of  all  feeling, 
for  the  pride  of  exhibition  before  strangers  or  enemies  ;  but  alone,  or  in  the 


304  NOTES. 

circle  of  domestic  affection,  his  outward  emotions,  liis  smiles,  his  tears,  are 
free  and  frequent. 

Then  from  that  forest  tomb  he  passed. — STANZA  x. 

Tecumseh's  visits  to  the  tribes  were  made  at  different  times.  I  have  ven 
tured,  by  poetic  license,  to  put  them  all  into  one.  He  did,  however,  actually 
go  to  all  the  tribes  from  Superior  to  the  Gulph  of  Mexico. 

great  birth 

Art  thou,  Missouri,  of  the  earth. — STANZA  x. 

The  Missouri  is  the  longest  river  in  the  world  -,  for  what  is  called  the  Mis 
sissippi,  below  their  junction,  should  be  named  Missouri,  since  the  latter  is> 
at  that  place,  two  or  three  times  wider,  and  has  run  twice  as  far.  The  whole 
of  its  course  to  the  ocean  is  estimated  at  4,500  miles.  The  Amazon  flows 
4,000  miles,  the  Mississippi  3,600. 

That,  from  his  noble  nature  weaned, 
But  make  the  savage  all  a  fiend. — STANZA  xi. 

The  approach  of  civilization  has  been  hut  sorrow  and  ruin  to  the  Indian, 
with  scarcely  a  ray  of  benefit.  They  learn  from  it  all  that  is  evil,  little  that 
is  good.  From  the  first  they  have  withered  and  fallen  before  its  light,  yet, 
by  some  fatal  attraction,  instead  of  flying  to  the  farthest  wilderness,  still 
linger  upon  its  borders,  as  the  deer  will  draw  around  the  hunter's  fire,  till 
the  arrow  is  in  his  heart.  Thus  it  is,  that  "  the  proud  and  high-souled  being, 
in  whose  heart,"  as  an  eloquent  writer  has  observed,  "  the  lightning  slept,  as 
it  sleeps  in  the  folded  cloud,"  has  become  on  all  the  advancing  frontiers  broken- 
spirited,  mean  and  degraded.  "  Our  vices,"  says  Heckewelder,  "  have  de 
stroyed  them  more  than  our  swords." 

Sacs,  Foxes,  restless  loways,  tfc. — STANZA  xn. 

All  the  tribes  mentioned  in  the  tour  of  Tecumseh  were,  as  far  as  I  can 
discover,  at  that  time  resident  in  the  several  places  assigned.  Many  of  their 
dwelling  places  are  now  changed. 

Were  thrilled  through  utmost  soul  and  sense,  fyc. — STANZA  xn. 
The  eloquence  of  Tecumseh  is  represented  as  having  been  in  all  respects 
remarkable.  His  sarcastic  and  severe  speech  to  Gen.  Proctor,  when  he  was 
about  to  retreat  from  Maiden,  as  given  in  Thatcher,  is  a  good  instance  of  his 
common  manner.  As  Charlevoix  says  of  the  Canadian  savages,  it  was  "  such 
as  the  Greeks  admired  in  the  barbarians,"  strong,  stern,  sententious,  pointed, 
perfectly  undisguised.  But  that  was  not  an  occasion  for  him  to  be  eloquent. 
"It  was  only,"  says  Thatcher,  "when  he  spoke  for  the  explanation  or  vindi 
cation  of  that  great  cause  to  which  his  whole  heart  and  mind  were  devoted, 
that  he  indulged  himself  in  any  thing  beyond  the  laconic  language  of  neces 
sity.  His  appearance  was  always  noble — his  form  symmetrical— his  carriage 
erect  and  lofty—his  motions  commanding — but  under  the  excitement  of  his 
favorite  theme,  he  became  a  new  being.  The  artifice  of  the  politician,  the 
diffidence  of  the  stranger,  the  demure  dignity  of  the  warrior,  were  cast 


NOTES.  dOO 

aside  like  a  cloak.  His  fine  countenance  lighted  up  with  a  fiery  and  haughty 
pride.  His  frame  swelled  with  emotion.  Every  posture  and  every  gesture 
had  its  eloquent  meaning.  Anil  then  language  indeed — the  irrepressible  out 
breaking  of  nature — flowed  glowing  from  the  passion-fountains  of  the  soul." 
The  best  example  of  such  a  speech  is  to  be  found  in  Hunter's  Memoirs  of 
his  Captivity.  Tecumseh  had  arrived  among  the  Osages.  The  chiefs  and 
warriors  were  so  agitated  with  his  eloquence,  that  they  adjourned  the  coun 
cil  immediately,  and  dared  not  come  to  a  decision  for  some  days.  His  pro 
posals  were,  however,  in  the  end  rejected,  through  the  influence  of  some 
old  chiefs,  friendly  to  the  Americans;  but  I  can  find  no  other  instance 
among  all  the  tribes  visited  by  him.  They  were  all  persuaded  at  the  time: 
it  was  the  untimely  battle  of  the  VVabash,  which  afterwards  broke  the 
league.  "  1  wish  it  was  in  my  power."  says  Hunter,  "  to  do  justice  to  the 
eloquence  of  this  distinguished  man;  but  it  is  utterly  impossible  The 
richest  colors,  shaded  with  a  master's  pencil,  would  fall  infinitely  short  of 
the  glowing  finish  of  the  original.  The  occasion  and  subject  were  pecu 
liarly  adapted  to  call  into  action  all  the  powers  of  genuine  patriotism  ;  and 
such  language,  such  gestures,  such  feelings,  and  fulness  of  soul  contending 
for  utterance,  were  exhibited  by  this  untutored  native  of  the  forest  in  the 
central  wilds  of  America,  as  no  audience,  I  am  persuaded  either  in  ancient 
or  modern  times,  ever  before  witnessed." 

"  Brothers, —  We  all  belong  to  one  family  ;  we  are  all  children  of  the  Great 
Spirit ;  we  walk  in  the  same  path  ;  slake  our  thirst  at  the  same  spring  ;  and 
now  affairs  of  the  greatest  concern  lead  us  to  smoke  the  pipe  around  the 
same  council  fire! 

"Brothers, — We  are  friends  ;  we  must  assist  each  other  to  bear  our  bur 
thens.  The  blood  of  many  of  our  fathers  and  brothers  has  run  like  water 
on  the  ground,  to  satisfy  the  avarice  of  the  white  men.  We,  ourselves,  are 
threatened  with  a  great  evil;  nothing  will  pacify  them  but  the  destruction 
of  all  the  red  men. 

"Brothers, — When  the  white  men  first  set  foot  on  our  grounds,  they  were 
hungry;  they  had  no  place  on  which  to  spread  their  blankets,  or  to  Kindle 
their  fires.  They  were  feeble  ;  they  could  do  nothing  for  themselves.  Our 
fathers  commiserated  their  distress,  and  shared  freely  with  them  whatever 
the  Great  Spirit  had  given  his  red  children.  They  gave  them  food  when 
hungry,  medicine  when  sick,  spread  skins  for  them  to  sleep  on,  and  gave 
them  grounds,  that  they  might  hunt  and  raise  corn.  Brothers,  the  white 
people  are  like  poisonous  serpents  ;  when  chilled,  they  are  feeble  and  harm 
less;  but  invigorate  them  with  warmth,  and  they  sting  their  benefactors  to 
death. 

"The  white  people  came  among  us  feeble ;  and  now  we  have  made  them 
strong,  they  wish  to  kill  us,  or  drive  us  back,  as  they  would  wolves  and 
panthers. 

"  Brothers, — The  white  men  are  not  friends  to  the  Indians  :  at  first,  they 
only  asked  for  land  sufficient  for  a  wigwam  ;  now  nothing  will  satisfy  them 
but  the  whole  of  our  hunting  grounds,  from  the  rising  to  the  setting  sun. 

"  Brothers,— The  white  men  want  more  than  our  hunting  grounds;  they 
26* 


306 


NOTES. 


wish  to  hill  our  warriors ;  they  would  even  kill  our  old  men,  women,  and 
little  ones. 

"  Brothers,— Many  winters  ago,  there  was  no  land;  the  sun  did  not  rise 
and  set:  all  was  darkness.  The  Great  Spirit  made  all  things.  He  gave  the 
while  people  a  home  beyond  the  great  waters.  He  supplied  these  grounds 
with  game,  and  gave  them  to  his  red  children  ;  and  he  gave  them  strength 
and  courage  to  defend  them. 

"  Brothers, — My  people  wish  for  peace:  the  red  men  all  wish  for  peace; 
but  where  the  white  people  are,  there  is  no  peace  for  them,  except  it  be  on 
the  bosom  of  our  mother. 

"  Brothers, — The  white  men  despise  and  cheat  the  Indians;  they  abuse 
and  insult  them  ;  they  do  not  think  the  red  men  sufficiently  good  to  live. 

"The  red  men  have  borne  many  and  great  injuries;  they  ought  to  suffer 
them  no  longer.  My  people  will  not;  they  are  determined  on  vengeance; 
they  have  taken  up  the  tomahawk  :  they  will  make  it  fat  with  blood  ;  they 
will  drink  the  blood  of  the  white  people. 

"Brothers, —  My  people  are  bras e  and  numerous;  but  the  white  people 
are  too  strong  for  them  alone.  I  wish  you  to  take  up  the  tomahawk  with 
them.  If  we  all  unite,  we  will  cause  the  rivers  to  stain  the  great  waters 
with  their  blood. 

"  Brothers. — If  you  do  not,  unite  with  us,  they  will  first  destroy  us,  and 
then  you  will  fall  an  easy  prey  to  them.  They  have  destroyed  many  nations 
of  red-men  because  they  were  not  united,  because  they  were  not  friends  to 
each  other. 

"  Brothers, — The  white  people  send  runners  among  us ;  they  wish  to  make 
us  enemies,  that  they  may  sweep  over  and  desolate  our  hunting  grounds, 
like  devastating  winds,  or  rushing  waters. 

"Brothers, — Our  Great  Father,  over  the  great  waters,  is  angry  with  the 
white  people,  our  enemies.  He  will  send  his  brave  warriors  against  them  ; 
he  will  send  us  rifles,  and  whatever  else  we  want — he  is  our  friend,  and  we 
are  his  children. 

"  Brothers, — Who  are  the  white  people  that  we  should  fear  them  ?  They 
cannot  run  fast,  and  are  good  marks  to  shoot  at :  they  are  only  men ;  our 
fathers  have  killed  many  of  them :  we  are  not  squaws,  and  we  will  stain  the 
earth  red  with  their  blood. 

"Brothers, — The  Great  Spirit  is  angry  with  our  enemies;  he  speaks  in 
thunder,  and  the  earth  swallows  up  villages,  and  drinks  up  the  Mississippi. 
The  great  waters  will  cover  their  lowlands ;  their  corn  cannot  grow  ;  and 
the  Great  Spirit  will  sweep  those  who  escape  to  the  hills  from  the  earth 
with  his  terrible  breath. 

"Brothers.—  We  must  be  united;  we  must  smoke  the  same  pipe;  we 
must  fight  each  other's  battles  ;  and  more  than  all,  we  must  love  the  Great 
Spirit;  he  is  for  us;  he  will  destroy  our  enemies,  and  make  all  his  red 
children  happy." 

To  end  this  notice  of  his  eloquence,  I  will  give  his  reply  to  Gen.  Harrison, 
in  a  council  at  Vincennes.  Tecumseh  was  wearied  with  speaking,  and 
looked  around  for  a  chair.  By  mistake,  none  had  been  provided.  General 
Harrison  perceived  it,  and  the  interpreter  handed  one  to  the  orator,  saying 
"  Your  Father  requests  you  to  take  a  chair."  "My  Father!"  said  the  chief 


NOTES.  307 

proudly, — "  The  sun  is  my  father,  and  the  earth  my  mother;  on  her  bosom 
will  I  repose!"  And  (suiting  the  action  to  the  words,  he  flung  himself  on  the 
ground.  We  challenge  all  ancient  and  modern  eloquence  to  produce  a  finer 
retort. 

And  well  'twas  seen,  their  hearts  had  not 
His  burning  words,  their  vows  forgot, 
In  after  years,  by  midnight  cries,  be. — STANZA  xvu. 
The  devastation  and  massacres,  made  by  the  southern  Indians  after  the 
war,  have  been  attributed  to  Tecumseh's  visit. 

In  Osceolu's  liquid  name,  (fc.— STANZA  xvm. 

In  the  late  Seminole  war,  or  rather  the  war  begun  a  great  while  ago  and 
not  yet  ended,  Os-ce-o-la,  a  pure  and  noble-minded  savage,  was  decoyed  by 
a  flag  of  truce  into  the  camp,  then  put  into  confinement,  where  he  died.  I 
leave  the  reader  to  make  his  own  comment. 

The  Ruby  Flood. — STANZA  xix. 

The  Camanches  on  the  Red  River  are,  at  present,  by  far  the  most  wild 
and  lawless  of  the  Indian  tribes.  Their  sole  method  of  making  war  is  with 
wild  horses,  which  they  ride  without  bit  or  bridle,  often  with  no  saddle.  Mr. 
Irving,  however,  speaks  of  the  Pawnees,  as  being,  at  the  time  of  his  tour, 
considered  singularly  fierce  and  terrible — a  kind  of  Arabs. 

The  Black  Hills  sable  heads  arise. — STANZA  xxi. 

These  are  a  range  of  wild,  broken  heights  at  the  base  of  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains,  presenting  the  appearance  described.  The  Indians,  who  reverence 
every  thing  in  nature  that  is  unaccountable,  look  upon  them  with  great  awe. 
Mr.  Irving  speaks,  in  his  "Astoria,"  of  their  superstitions  with  regard  to  the 
clouds  and  echoes  ;  as  also  of  their  singular  idea  as  to  the  Rocky  Mountains 
being  the  "  crest  of  the  world,"  and  the  dwelling-place  of  Wakondah — 
which  word  signifies  the  Great  Spirit  in  the  Dacotah  dialect.  The  real  name 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains  is  Chippewyan,  from  the  tribe  so  called,  residing 
between  lat  60?  and  65°  North. 

Itaska's  lovely  lake.— STANZA  xxm. 

Itaska  is  a  small  sheet  of  water,  of  a  few  miles  extent,  from  which  the  Mis 
sissippi  takes  its  rise.  It  is  described  by  Schoolcraft  as  being  most  beautiful 
in  all  its  features — especially  on  account  of  its  shore  of  white  sand,  and  the 
strange  mingling  of  its  foliage. 

Michigan's  mysterious  tide. — STANZA  xxv. 

All  of  the  lakes,  it  has  been  observed,  have  a  rise  and  fall  of  about  three 
feet  in  seven  years  and  a  half.  It  was  noticed  by  the  French  more  particu 
larly  of  Michigan. 

Spirit  of  Fire  .'—STANZA  xxxm. 
"The  savages  give  the  name  of  Spirit  or  Genius  to  all  that  surpasses 


308  NOTES. 

their  understanding,  or  proceeds  from  a  cause  which  they  cannot  trace. 
Some  of  these  are  good,  some  bad.  Of  the  former  are  the  Spirit  of  Dreams, 
&c.  Of  the  latter  Thunder,  Hail,  Fire,  &c."— La  Hontan. 

CANTO  IV. 

An  Indian  female  feebly  bending-. — STANZA  HI. 

This  incident,  of  an  Indian  mother  and  her  son,  was  suggested  by  a  scene, 
somewhat  similar,  in  a  novel,  called  Els  kwa-ta-wa,  or  the  Prophet  of  the 
West,  where  an  Indian  woman  seeks  her  child  with  a  torch  by  night. 

A  Huron  village  rudely  reared. — STANZA  vi. 

Some  miles  below  the  Prophet's  camp  there  was  a  smnll  village  of  Hurons. 
That  tribe  formerly  lived  on  the  east  side  of  Lake  Huron;  but  they  became 
scattered  many  years  ago. 

And  ever  as  they,  tfc. — STANZA  ix. 

All  the  main  incidents  described  in  the  following  stanzas,  as  the  hovering 
of  Indians  around  the  army,  the  meeting  with  the  Prophet's  messengers,  the 
ordering  of  the  battle,  and  the  Prophet's  chanting  meanwhile,  are  taken  from 
accounts  of  that  engagement.  It  was,  perhaps,  the  most  obstinate  and  pro 
longed  contest  with  the  Indians  on  record  ;  for  when  routed,  they  rarely  re 
turn  to  the  conflict.  That  they  did  so  at  this  time,  was  owing  to  their  trust  in 
the  Prophet's  promises,  that  the  bullets  would  not  touch  them,  that  they 
would  be  in  the  light,  their  foes  in  darkness,  and  others,  of  the  like  remark 
able  nature. 

Our  Father  of  the  Seventeen  Fires. — STANZA  xi. 
The  Indian  name  for  the  seventeen  states  then  existing. 

Strike !— redeem  your  fathers1  graves,  (fc.— STANZA  xxn. 
This  passage  resembles,  more  than  I  was  aware,  the  well  known  lines  in 
Marco  Bozzuris — the  noblest  of  American  lyrics,  and.it  may  be  added,  one  of 
the  finest  in  the  language.    The  reader  may  consider  it  an  imitation,  or  not, 
as  he  pleases. 

CANTO  V. 

And  Jillcd  with  awe,  as  gleamed  Mamtto's  eye, 
And  crashed  his  fiery  stteds  along  the  sky.—  STANZA  xxv. 
Many  of  the  operations  of  nature  are  terrible  to  the  Indian,  especially 
thunder,  which  always  commands  their  reverence. 

Like  those  fair  plains  of  varied  dress 
The  gardens  of  the  wilderness,  ffc. — STANZA  xxvni. 

There  has  been  already  one  description  of  prairie  scenery.  But  that  was 
iu  autumn,  this  is  in  the  spring  ;  and  their  appearances  are  entirely  different. 


NOTES.  309 

I  turned  so  far  io  seek  his  grave 
That  ill  may  not  our  steps  overtake. — STANZA  xxx. 

The  reverence  of  Indians  for  ancient  graves  amounts  almost  to  worship  ; 
and  they  have  frequently  been  known  to  turn  aside  for  miles,  even  in  im 
portant  journeys,  to  visit  the  tomb  of  some  great  and  venerated  chief  or 
warrior.  An  instance  of  the  kind  is  mentioned  in  Jefferson's  Notes  on  Vir 
ginia. 

But  that  in  one  most  frantic  hour 
Thou  ruindst  all  the  banded  power. — STANZA  XXXTI. 

It  was  the  battle  of  the  Wabash  that  broke  up  all  Tecumseh's  plans.  Had 
it  not  been  for  this,  the  whole  frontier  would  have  been  devastated  with  fire 
and  slaughter.  Yet,  though  his  vast  schemes  were  ruined.  Tecumseh  did  not 
despair;  or,  if  he  despaired  he  was  resolute.  After  intending  two  councils, 
one  with  the  Americans,  the  other  wiih  the  British,  he  again  visited  all  the 
principle  tribes,  and  strove  to  re-unite  the  broken  league.  Like  Demosthenes 
of  Greece,  the  wavering  of  some  and  the  coldness  of  others,  only  roused  him 
to  greater  efforts,  and  more  burning  eloquence. 

CANTO  VI. 

On  Arno's  wave  and  soft  Vauclusa's  dews. — INTRODUCTION. 

The  Arno  runs  through  Florence,  which  was  the  residence  of  some  of  the 

principal  Italian  poets,  as  also  of  Boccaccio,  their  most  eminent  prose-writer. 

Oh!  weep  not  now  by  fair  Part  hcnope. 

Parthenope,  or,  of  modern  name,  Naples,  contains,  as  is  well  known,  the 
tomb  of  Virgil. 

He  sewed  wit h  fibrous  wattap. — STANZA  t. 

Wattap  is  the  Indian  term  for  the  small  roots  of  spruce,  with  which  they 
sew  the  birch  bark  of  their  canoes. 

The  morn-kissed  cliffs  of  Mackinaw. — STANZA  in. 

This  island  is,  perhaps,  the  most  remarkable  on  the  American  coast.  It  is 
nearly  three  hundred  feet  high,  with  perpendicular  cliffs,  a  fortress  nearly 
on  the  summit,  water  beyond  the  sight  on  two  sides,  on  the  other  two,  wild, 
wooded  shores.  Connected  with  it  are  many  curious  incidents  of  the  times 
of  Pontiac  and  the  French  war.  Its  real  name  is  Michilamackinac — i.  e. 
Missi  "  great,"  and  mackinac,  the  Indian  word  for  "  turtle." 

When,  isle  and  shore,  the  forests  seem 
The  strange  commingling  of  a  dream. — STANZA  v. 

This  blending  of  all  kinds  of  foliage  forms,  as  Mr.  Schoolcraft  remarks,  a 
peculiar  characteristic  in  the  scenery  of  the  Sault  St.  Marie. 

and— hush  thy  voice,  thy  heart, 

Thou  gazer ! — STANZA  vi. 
The  entrance  into  Lake  Superior,  as  all  who  have  seen  it  will  acknow- 


310 


NOTES. 


ledge,  presents  a  scene  of  surpassing  magnificence  and  beauty.  The  great 
chain  of  lakes  is.  in  truth,  the  glory  of  North  America,  ami  unparalleled  in 
the  world.  Of  these  Superior  is  by  far  the  largest,  being  480  miles  long  and 
in  some  places  nearly  200  wide,  and  covering  an  area  of  3,500  square  miles. 

And  as  they  passed  grim  Iroquois. — STANZA  vn. 

According  to  Indian  tradition,  one  of  the  most  terrible  of  their  battles  was 
fought  in  this  place ;  and  it  is  said,  so  say  Carver  and  Henry,  to  have  given 
the  name  to  the  point. 

The  sons  of  Tarhe. 

"As  the  nation  has  some  particular  symbol  by  which  it  is  distinguished 

from  others,  so  each  tribe  has  a  badge  or  totem,  as  they  call  it,  from  which  it 

is  denominated;  as  the  Eagle,  the  Panther,  the  Tiger,  &c."—  Carver.    Of 

these  Tarhe,  signifying  the  "  Crane,"  is  the  totem  of  some  Chippewa  tribes. 

And  all  throughout  was  sable  leaf. — STANZA  VIM. 

For  many  miles,  after  passing  Cape  Iroquois,  the  coast  is  little  else  than  a 
succession  of  dark  evergreen  forests.  It  may  be  doubted,  however,  whether 
such  do  not  add  to  the  wildness  and  even  beauty  of  so  solitary  and  vast  a 
scene. 

Shoot  past  De  L'Isle  and  bold  Batture.— STANZA  ix. 

These  are  the  names  of  the  several  points,  as  they  are  called,  which  form 
the  indentations  of  the  coast,  as  are  also  Namacong  and  Vermilion  below. 
Tequamcnon  is  deeply  colored,  probably  from  its  running  through  clay. 

The  name  "Obitsis"  may  serve  to  show  what  peculiar  felicity  the  Ame 
ricans  possess  in  bestowing  proper  names.  The  vo3rageurs  have  turned  it 
into  "Betsy" — an  improvement  upon  the  Indian  name  about  equal  to  that 
made  upon  the  "  Monedo  River,"  which,  since  Monedo  signifies  a  spirit,  and 
rum  is  also  spirit,  they  call  Rum  River. 

Where  Sable's  Sandy  Hills  arise.— STANZA  x. 

The  Grand  Sable  extends  some  ten  or  twelve  milos  along  the  shore.  "  Its 
medium  height,  as  estimated  by  Dr.  Wolcott  of  the  expedition,  is  three  hun 
dred-feet,  and  it  presents  a  novel  and  interesting  appearance  from  the  lake. 
The  views,  however,  although  generally  commanding,  present  a  great  uni 
formity,  and  leave  upon  the  mind  a  strong  impression  of  bleakness  and  de 
solation.  Even  the  few  bushes  and  trees  which  are  occasionally  seen,  serve 
to  increase  this  effect  by  their  impoverished  growth,  while  the  birds  of  prey 
which  we  observed  hovering  around  these  bleak  sandy  heights,  could  hardly 
be  consiJered  as  ameliorating  the  dreariness  of  the  prospect  It  is  impossible 
to  view  these  stupendous  sand  hills,  without  being  at  the  same  time  strongly 
impressed  with  the  idea  that  they  owe  their  arrangement  and  present  order 
of  superposition  to  the  agency  of  water,  and  that  this  fluid  has  at  some  former 
period  covered  their  highest  tops."—  SchoolcrafVs  Travels,  p.  146. 

Sublime  the  Pictured  Rocks  arife. — STANZA  xi. 

That  I  may  not  be  thought  to  have  exaggerated  the  sublimities  of  the  Pic 
tured  Rocks,  I  add  the  description  of  a  traveller  well  known  for  his  correct 


NOTES.  311 

observations  on  natural  scenery.  "We  had  been  told,  by  our  Canadian 
guide,  of  the  variety  in  the  color  and  form  of  these  rocks,  but  were  wholly 
unprepared  to  encounter  the  surprising  groupes  of  overhanging  precipices, 
towering  walls,  caverns,  water-falls,  and  prostrate  ruins,  which  are  here  min 
gled  in  the  most  wonderful  disorder,  and  burst  upon  the  view  in  ever- varying 
and  pleasing  succession.  In  order  to  convey  any  just  idea  of  their  magnifi 
cence,  it  is  necessary  to  premise,  that  this  part  of  the  shore  consists  of  a  sand 
stone  rock  of  a  light  gray  color  internally,  and  deposited  stratum  super-stra 
tum  to  the  height  of  three  hundred  feet,  rising  in  a  perpendicular  wall  from 
the  water,  and  extending  from  four  to  five  leagues  in  length.  Externally,  it 
presents  a  great  variety  of  color,  as  black,  red,  yellow,  brown,  and  white, 
particularly  along  the  most  permanent  parts  of  the  shore;  but  where  masses 
have  newly  fallen,  its  color  is  a  light  gray.  In  no  place  does  the  recent  frac 
ture  disclose  any  traces  of  red,  and  the  variety  of  outward  coloring  is  owing 
partly  to  mineral  waters  which  appear  to  have  oozed  out  of  the  crevices  of 
the  rock,  but  mainly,  to  the  washing  down  of  the  banks  of  colored  clay  from 
the  superincumbent  soil.  This  stupendous  wall  of  rock,  exposed  to  the  fury 
of  the  waves,  which  are  driven  up  by  every  north  wind  across  the  whole 
width  of  Lake  Superior,  has  been  partially  prostrated  at  several  points,  and 
worn  out  into  numerous  bays,  and  irregular  indentations.  All  these  front 
Upon  the  hike,  in  a  line  of  aspiring  promontories,  which,  at  a  distance,  pre 
sent  the  terrible  array  of  dilapidated  battlements  and  desolate  towers." — 
Schoolcraft's  Travels,  p.  150. 

Yet  shook  the  lake  in  strange  unrest, 
As  if  by  fearful  dreams  possessed. — STANZA  xv. 

There  is  something  strange  in  a  storm  on  Lake  Superior.  Charlevoix  ob 
serves,  "  when  a  storm  is  about  to  rise  on  Lake  Superior,  you  are  advertised 
of  it,  two  or  three  days  previous.  At  first,  you  perceive  a  gentle  murmuring 
on  the  face  of  the  water,  which  lasts  the  whole  day  without  increasing  in 
any  sensible  manner ;  the  day  after,  the  lake  is  covered  with  pretty  large 
waves,  but  without  breaking  all  that  day,  so  that  you  may  proceed  without 
fear,  and  even  make  good  way  if  the  wind  is  favorable  ;  but  on  the  third  day 
when  you  are  the  least  thinking  of  it,  the  lake  becomes  all  on  fire,  the  ocean 
in  its  greatest  rage  is  not  more  tost,  in  which  case  you  must  take  care  to  be 
near  shelter,  to  save  yourself." — Charlevoix,  p.  44,  vol.  ii. 

CANTO  VII. 

How  dark-haired  Fairies  revels  ker.p,  tfc. — STANZA  xxn. 
No  race  are  more  imaginative  than  the  Indians.     With  respect  to  their 
Fairies,  the  authority  of  Schoolcraft  is  decisive.     "  Puk  Wudj  Ininee,  or 
little  wild-men  of  the  woods,  and  Alishcn  Imokinakog,  or  turtle-spirits,  are 
their  two  classes  of  minor  spirits,  or  Fairies,  who  love  romantic  scenes." 

What  glories  blaze 

The  Shining  Mountains  round. 

This  is  the  Indian  name  for  a  portion  of  the  Chippewyan  mountains,  to 
wards  the  source  cf  the  Missouri,  on  account  of  their  appearance.  They  are 
also  supposed  to  be  the  abode  of  Wakoudah,  or  the  Great  Spirit. 


312  NOTES. 

CANTO  VIII. 

The  Giant's  Arch. — STANZA  vi. 

This  is  a  kind  of  bridge  passing  over  the  outer  edge  of  a  deep  gorge,  or 
crater,  close  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  at  the  height  of  100  or  150  feet 

And  some  with  Nelson  fought  afar. — STANZA  xvn. 

The  battle  of  Erie  was  an  hunor  to  both  nations.  Com.  Barclay,  the  British 
commander,  one  of  Nelson's  captains,  was  of  a  character  as  heroic  as  Perry. 
Obliged  to  retire  below  through  severe  wounds,  he  notwithstanding  refused 
to  suffer  the  flag  to  be  struck,  till  he  was  carried  up,  and  saw,  himself,  the 
impossibility  of  holding  out  longer. 

Sailed  the  ships  and  on  the  morn.— STANZA  xxvin. 

The  fuieral  took  place  in  every  respect  as  described.  British  and  Ameri 
cans  were  borne  and  buried  together.  Com.  Barclay  gave  many  attestations 
to  Perry's  nobleness  and  generosity. 

CANTO  IX. 

Is  it  the  voice  of  Tamcnend  7 — STANZA  ix. 

Tamencnd  was  the  wisest  and  greatest  of  the  Delawares.  All  white-men 
hrld  him  in  reverence.  Mr.  Cooper,  in  his  "  Last  of  the  Mohicans,"  has  in 
troduced  him  in  his  old  age,  with  great  beauty. 

Where,  red-men,  is  the  banded  pride,  (fc.—  STANZA  xiv. 
At  the  first  landing  in  Virginia,  three  nations — Mannahoacks  in  eight  tribes, 
the  Monicans  in  five,  and  the  Powhatans  in  twenty-five— occupied  the  coun 
try  from  the  sea-coast  to  the  Alleghanies. 

Horicon,'\.e.Lakeofthe  Silver  Waters,  was  the  Indian  name  for  Lake 
George. 

Natchez — This  Tribe  were  murdered  by  the  French. 
Metacom  was  the  name  of  King  Philip. 

VERNAL  HYMN. — xxx. 

Dances  were  customary  for  the  opening  of  spring,  for  the  harvesting  of 
corn,  &c.  The  women  never  danced  with  the  men. — Carver's  Travels. 

And  the  earth  looks  as  fresh  with  her  sons  and  her  daughters,  tfC. 

All  Indian  accounts  of  the  creation  agree  that  the  world  rose  from  the  deep. 

The  VVekolis  is  the  name  for  the  whip-poor-will. 

The  Miscodeed,  according  to  Schoolcraft,  is  a  small  white  flower,  with  a 
tinge  of  crimson  around  the  edge.  It  is,  at  the  north,  the  first  flower  that 
appears  in  the  spring. 

"  The  grave  in  which  Tccumseh's  remains  were  deposited  by  the  Indians 
after  the  return  of  the  American  army,  is  still  visible  near  the  borders  of 
a  willow  marsh,  on  the  north  line  of  the  battle-ground,  with  a  large  fallen 
oak-tree  lying  beside.  The  willow  and  wild  rose  are  thick  around  it,  but 
the  mound  itself  is  cleared  of  shrubbery,  and  is  said  to  owe  its  good  condi 
tion  to  the  occasional  visits  of  his  countrymen." — Thatcher. 


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